Again
by terminallypretty
Summary: She'd never thought to see him again - but there he was, striding arrogantly down the main thoroughfare. Was it a fated new beginning or merely a chance encounter? And would he recognize the child he'd known in the woman she'd become? Balthier/Penelo.
1. Chapter 1

_I have not yet finished Final Fantasy XII. Although I did do a bit of research, I'm sure that some things will be inaccurate, and for that reason this fic is to be considered AU. Post XII. For all intents and purposes, FXII: Revenant Wings does not exist. _

Penelo hadn't expected to see him again, and yet there he was, striding arrogantly down the crowded Rabanastre streets just a few yards away from her. Or, at least, she _hoped _it was him.

She didn't want to lose sight of him – but his long legs and quick stride made hurrying after him while still remaining unnoticed a difficult thing to do. What was he _doing _in Rabanastre, anyway? After he'd stolen the _Strahl_ and flown off into the sunset with Fran over a year ago, she'd thought it unlikely they'd ever meet again, even though her own recent adventures as a sky pirate made it slightly more probable that they would.

She lost him around a group of Bangaa merchants that were clustered around the magick shop, unloading a store of goods. Darting nimbly around them, she surveyed the area, searching for any sign of him. Had he ducked into a shop? But with Dalmasca's restoration into the Lady Ashe's keeping, Rabanastre had flourished and grown – there were far too many shops to search with far too many entrances and exits, and for what – a man who might or might not be Balthier, anyway? She hadn't gotten a close enough look, she'd merely experienced that strange tingling in her stomach she'd always gotten when he was near. Still, a year could change a lot. Likely it wasn't him. He'd said Rabanastre was not the place for him, anyway.

With a heavy sigh, Penelo resigned herself to heading for Migelo's Sundries – she and Vaan needed to restock, and after all, that was why they'd entered the city anyway.

She turned around to head back the way she'd come, only to be yanked into an alleyway a few seconds later. Before she could cry out for help, a firm hand clamped over her mouth and an arm snaked around her bare midriff, yanking her back against a warm, hard chest. Her fingers pried at the hand covering her mouth – if she could get out just one good scream –!

"Now, then," a familiar voice said near her ear. "Perhaps you'd like to explain why you were following me. Does the new queen object to having less than savory characters inside her beloved city now that she's no longer in exile?"

Her hands fell away, her instinctive fight dying all at once. _Oh_. So it _was _him. Back in Rabanastre again.

He noted her lack of a struggle with something close to puzzlement – usually when accused of being a spy one did everything in one's power to escape. But this mere slip of a girl did not. He found most people to be dull and predictable in their actions, but this girl baffled him.

"Well? Out with it." Too late he realized he still had his hand clamped tightly over her mouth. He removed it slowly, but tightened his grip on her waist in the event that she would try to flee.

"Balthier," she gasped, "it's me – Penelo. I'm not spying for Lady Ashe, I promise."

"_Penelo_?" Perhaps the exclamation was a little inelegant, but he felt the situation merited some degree of incredulity. The last time they had met, she had been little more than a child, still with a child's enthusiasm, boundless energy and innocent view of the world despite the hardships they'd come through together. He'd waited and waited for the experiences to jade her, to convert that ever-present optimism to cynicism, but it never had. She'd remained the voice of hope and good sense long after they'd triumphed over enough evil to kill it in a lesser person. He _still _didn't know if he admired it or found it incredibly foolish.

But that had been some time ago, and here she was, a few inches taller and decidedly more womanly than she'd been before. For Ivalice's sake, she'd still been in a _jumpsuit _when they'd first met. And now…and now she had foregone the jumpsuit for an unequivocally more provocative outfit – one that left a good deal of smooth, tanned skin visible from just beneath her breasts to a scant couple of inches beneath her navel. Given a couple of years, she'd probably give Fran a run for her gil in the way of suggestive outfits. And that got him to wondering as to precisely what sort of _dancing _she was up to these days.

"What're you doing in Rabanastre?" She asked, wide-eyed. Her small hands gripped his forearms – for some reason he'd quite forgotten to let go of her waist. "Is Fran with you? What about Sir Basch? Are you going to see Lady Ashe?"

"I'd rather not," he said dryly – though they were on terms that could be considered cordial, the newly-crowned queen had little patience for sky pirates as a whole, and none at all in particular for Balthier and his _extraordinary arrogance_, as she called it. "Fran's running some errands of her own – she had some unanticipated business to look after. She's sitting out this trip, though we're reconvening in Balfonheim within the week. As for Basch, it is my understanding that he is doing an admirable job of protecting Larsa."

"Oh, I see." So he'd made a solo trip into the city. But he hadn't answered her question as to _why_. "So…you're not staying?"

"Not overly long, no," he said, watching the light fade from her eyes. And he knew all of a sudden that her crush on him – the one he'd done his _very _best not to encourage – had never died out like he'd thought. Like he'd _hoped_. Because like it or not, sweet, innocent girls like her were not meant for men like him.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped – she was too obvious. "I'd hoped maybe you'd, um…stay for dinner or something." She bit her lip, hoping he'd accept…and hoping Vaan wouldn't be too miffed about having a rival sky pirate aboard the _Galbana_.

He hesitated, torn. It wasn't like him to refuse something so freely offered, but he didn't want to corrupt that enchanting innocence she'd managed to hold on to through the years. He didn't think he had it in him to give her the sort of life she deserved – oh, he could give her excitement and adventure, but she would need love. She wanted so badly to love someone, and he knew it. She'd had so many things cruelly snatched away from her – her friends, her family, her home. And after helping to restore Dalmasca to its former glory, the people who she had come to view as more than friends – more than family, even – had all deserted her.

And he envied the man that ended up on the receiving end of that pure devotion – but if it were him, she would end up hurt again. And he respected her too much – _liked _her too much to let that happen.

"I don't think that would be wise," he said slowly. "However, I thank you for your kind offer. Another time, perhaps." _With Fran present, at the very least._

Her face shuttered. "I wish you wouldn't treat me like a child," she said, pulling a little away.

To him, it was a ridiculous request. She _was _a child; how was he not to treat her like one? It defied logic.

"Penelo," he sighed, "you're a charming girl, but you're seventeen years –"

"Nineteen," she corrected hastily, still smarting over the _charming girl _line.

"I beg your pardon?" He was unaccustomed to being interrupted, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of poisonous glares – how could she _glare _at him, anyhow? Women, as a whole, _adored _him. They certainly did not look at him as though he were some sort of lower life form.

"I'm _nineteen_," she reiterated. "I've been nineteen for three whole months, now. I'm _not _a child."

"Nineteen." He thought about it for a moment. "I would've _sworn _you were seventeen when first we met."

"I was." She rocked back on her heels, linking her fingers behind her back. "I turned eighteen a few days after we rescued Fran's sister, Mjrn."

That had _still_ been well into their journey. "You never said anything," he observed quietly.

She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug, made more so by the way the toned muscles of her stomach stretched and moved. "What should I have said? That I wanted a party or presents or…or a cake, even? It was war. There were bigger things at stake than whether or not I had a birthday party."

_Bigger people_, she meant. It was no secret that she had been the member of their party most often overlooked, and yet somehow she had always been the one to jump in with both feet, to run to anyone's rescue, or to patch them up after a battle. That selflessness was part of what drew him to her, what had made him want to protect her, to fight her battles for her.

She had known all along that there would be no glory in their mission for her – only the slightest chance that they might succeed, that the Lady Ashe would reclaim her kingdom, and she might get to live out a quiet life as a normal, everyday citizen. She had even known that her eighteenth birthday was possibly the last she would ever see. Knowing that, how could she have pressed on so loyally? He had made no secret of his interest in the mission – he was a pirate, he was after the largest bounty he could get his hands on.

Everyone had had their reasons – be it greed, honor, or vengeance…but only Penelo had wanted to keep safe the only family she had left.

Perhaps his pensive mood had flustered her, or maybe she just felt she had overstepped her bounds, but she sighed softly and took a step away.

"Never mind," she said. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, anyway. Maybe some other time, like you said." She nudged a tin can with the toe of her boot. "Give Fran my love."

Of course, _Fran _got love. It irked him somewhat. He had to remind himself that he had chosen to remove himself from her affections, and so he had no right to be jealous.

"Well, see you around, I suppose." She threw a careless smile over her shoulder. "I've got to get to Migelo's before he closes up shop for the day. We're running out of supplies on the _Galbana_."

"The _what_?"

"The _Galbana_. Vaan's airship." She tilted her head to the side, slanting him a curious look. "We're sky pirates, you know."

He resisted the sudden urge to throttle her. Barely. "No," he said calmly. "No, I did _not _know."

"You're kidding. I thought for sure you would've known." Oddly pleased, she moved a little closer. "We're just starting out, and the _Galbana_ isn't anywhere near as big as the _Strahl_, but it's a lot of fun. There's still a lot of Ivalice I want to see. Navigating for Vaan is the perfect way to do it."

He clenched and unclenched his fists, valiantly restraining himself from wrapping his fingers around her pretty throat.

"Penelo, you _cannot_ be a sky pirate." He imbued the statement with as much finality and conviction as he could muster.

"Why's that?" Her voice had a distinctly frosty tone to it. "Is it because I'm a _charming girl_?"

"In part." Where to begin, though? How was he to tell her she lacked the necessary attitude to be a successful sky pirate? "You're still young, Penelo. You're just a girl."

He hadn't intended for it to come out that way – what _was _it about her that flustered him so?

"_Fran's _a girl," she said, setting her jaw stubbornly. "And I _can _take care of myself, you know."

He could see that he was going to have a battle on his hands to get her to give up her new career path.

"Fran is a Viera," he replied. "She's had _hundreds_ of years in which to study and train. You haven't even had two decades. But there's more to it than just being able to defend oneself. You don't have it in you to be a pirate. You lack the ruthlessness necessary to carry out a successful mission. You are filled with empathy and compassion, and there is no room for compassion in the life of a sky pirate."

"I can't be a pirate because I'm not ruthless? Like you?" She queried. At his curt nod, she threw back her head and laughed. "You're not ruthless, Balthier. You're _ridiculous_."

He bristled. "Care to repeat that?" Folding his arms forbiddingly, he attempted to stare her into submission. However, she merely grinned up at him disarmingly, launching unceremoniously into her explanation.

"Ridiculous," she proclaimed. "You _act _like you don't care, you _pretend _to be indifferent and nonchalant, but you're not. If you were, you would never have rescued Vaan for me, you would never have given me your handkerchief for _safekeeping_ that day. So you go right on ahead and tell yourself that you're a ruthless, compassionless sky pirate." She smirked, mirth and satisfaction glimmering in her eyes. "But it'll be nothing but lies."

"Be that as it may, _my _behavior has little to do with _your _pirating. Of which there will be _none_, just as soon as I have a word or several with your co-conspirator." He made for the main thoroughfare and she darted in front of him, blocking his path.

"You can't."

"I can't?"

"No," she said primly. "I am rescinding my invitation. You're not allowed on the _Galbana_."

"I'm a _pirate_, sweetheart," he said. "If failing to gain permission to go somewhere had ever stopped me from going, I wouldn't be as successful as I am, now, would I?"

"Well, that's a very good point," she said, "but I've got a better one."

"Which would be?"

"You've got no idea what the _Galbana _looks like. And, since it's a sky pirate's ship, you can hardly expect to find it easily, can you? I'd say you need _me _to help you find it. Which I am not particularly inclined to do." She skipped a little backwards, heading towards the street. He lunged for her, but she, with her dancer's lithe frame and swiftness, kept just a hair's breadth ahead of him, heading for the street.

"Some other time, Balthier!" She hurtled into the main street, flying at a breakneck pace down the cobblestone lane, dodging anything and everything in her path. Somehow he managed to keep up with her, despite her alarming penchant for squeezing through exceedingly small spaces. He was actually gaining on her when it happened – either a loose stone caught her boot or she'd suffered an unfortunate bout of clumsiness. Either way she took a particularly nasty fall in the middle of the road. A small smear of blood blossomed on her cheek. He was already tugging his handkerchief out of his breast pocket – the one hidden by his embroidered vest – as he dropped to his knees beside her.

"_This _is why you can't be a sky pirate," he said irritably. "You still need a keeper." He dabbed at the streak of blood carefully until she brought her fingers up, stilling the motion as she pulled back his hand to examine the bit of fabric in it.

"You kept it." Wide-eyed, she examined the handkerchief. It was just a simple cotton scrap of fabric – he had no idea how she could tell. For the first time in recent memory, he was speechless – there was nothing he could do or say to persuade her that it meant nothing to him. Perhaps _he _wasn't even sure of the reason why he had kept it for so long – close to his heart, like he'd promised her – but the fact remained that he _had_, and it meant _something_.

He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket, all too aware of the curious stares of the crowd milling around them as he helped her to her feet.

She was saying something, but it was too low for him to hear. As he leaned in to listen, he caught the tail end of the spell she'd been chanting, and quickly found himself immobilized. Why, the little wretch had actually had the unmitigated gall to wield magic against him! Shocked, he was only halfway through the counter-charm when she _silenced_ him as well.

She patted his shoulder sympathetically. He lunged for her, but his feet remained firmly planted on the ground as if he'd grown roots.

"Sorry, Balthier. But I can't have you following me." She skirted around his grasping fingers. Maybe he couldn't speak, but his eyes promised retribution of the most unpleasant variety. "It'll wear off in just a few minutes. It's not strong magic." She reached for the handkerchief, but he held it away from her, his message clear – if she wanted it, she'd have to fight him for it, and he knew she did not have the time to do so.

"I'll get it later, then. After all, I still remember the _Strahl_." And with a cheeky smile, she disappeared into the crowd.

_Blast and damn_. Balthier dug frantically through his bag, searching for some sort of remedy, but the magic wore off even before he found one – still, it had been plenty of time for her to make a clean get-away. She would not be caught again if she did not wish it so.

Where had she said she was going? Ah, yes, Migelo's. Balthier wasn't as familiar with Rabanastre as he might've been, and he held little hope of catching her at her shopping, but perhaps Migelo could be convinced to part with some information if Balthier could convince him that he was a friend of Penelo's.

--

"You've just missed her. Skipped out the back not two minutes ago," said the boy manning the shop. "Shame she didn't have time to sit and talk awhile. I'd have liked to hear about sky pirating."

Bloody hell, did _everyone _know about the foolish girl's larcenous activities?

"Would you happen to know where they've docked the _Galbana_?" He inquired.

"Gad, no. They don't tell _anyone _that. Who _knows _who might hear?"

"Indeed," Balthier muttered dryly. "I thank you for your time." He dropped a healthy handful of gil on the countertop, watching the youth's eyes widen at the sight of the unexpected bonus. "If you've any other information for me, you'll find me at the Sandsea."

And with that, he headed for the opposite end of the district to the small tavern, intent upon having a few mugs of ale and renting a room. Penelo would expect to find him aboard the _Strahl_ – would likely spend several hours figuring out how to get aboard without alerting him to her presence. She would not expect him to have taken up a room at the tavern in anticipation of her visit.

He left the handkerchief on the nightstand beside his neatly folded pile of clothing, then slid into bed. It was easy to get to sleep, but difficult to stay asleep, especially with the sort of restless dreams he'd been having – mostly involving Penelo. He supposed it was simply because of her sudden reappearance in his life, the unexpected confrontation with her, and his own strange reaction.

Sometime during the night he gave up on sleep entirely, resolved to cut short his stay in Rabanastre. It was better to retreat and recoup than to allow the enemy – and anything that threatened his carefree existence was, in essence, the enemy – to take advantage of one's weakness.

He poured himself a glass of water from a jug on the dresser, then quickly redressed. In the dark he reached for the handkerchief, but his fingers brushed stiff paper instead of cool linen. He switched on the light, staring dumbly at the note in his hand.

_Balthier, _

_Clever. But not quite clever enough._

_I won't be giving your handkerchief back this time – you'll have to come and get it if you want it back. Good luck finding us!_

_Sincerely,_

_The ruthless, compassionless sky pirate Penelo._

_P.S. Did you know that you snore something awful? I don't understand how you get any sleep at all when you make such a racket!_

He crumpled the note in his fingers, torn between amusement and anger – then smoothed it out and read it again. So few people in his life had teased him that he was unused to the feeling.

Still, she had a lot to learn about pirating if she was sneaking into men's hotel rooms and stealing items of sentimental value. Primarily, she needed to learn that one did not taunt sky pirates. It simply wasn't done, not if one wanted to remain among the world of the living. Well, perhaps _death_ was a bit drastic, especially considering their prior association – but he could certainly show her why should would need to be on her guard at all times. A lady pirate was much more vulnerable than a man, and if he could not force her to give up her pirating, perhaps he could appoint himself an…instructor, of sorts.

And there was, after all, the matter of his handkerchief. What self-respecting sky pirate let another get away with such blatant thievery? Oh, he'd get it back.

And more, besides.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where're we headed?" Vaan called from across the bridge.

Penelo looked up from the controls, setting their course. "Balfonheim Port," she called back. They were currently somewhere over the Tchita Uplands, and headed southeast. "Rumor in Archades is that there's a wealthy merchant group peddling their wares there. They won't notice if we liberate a bit of their cargo." It wasn't just the excitement of possibly seeing Balthier again, she assured herself. There _was _actually a legitimate reason for them to be in the port city.

"You know, we'd get rich a whole lot faster if you didn't have to be morally upright about this whole pirating thing. At this rate, we'll _never _get famous." Vaan, who had always had a flare for the dramatic, sighed irritably.

"Better to take what we can safely get away with and keep down the bounty on our heads. Lady Ashe and Larsa would probably pardon us if we _did _get hauled in for thievery – but do you really want to take that chance?" Penelo, who had always been the pragmatist, leveled a look at him that made it clear what she expected his answer to be.

He sighed forlornly. "I'm not even the master of my own ship, am I?"

"Not really," she smiled. "I've got seniority since I'm older."

"By a _month_!" He objected.

"_Still _older. Besides, _you _can't cook."

Vaan winced. Penelo knew how to hit him where it hurt – his stomach.

"All right," he sighed, climbing to his feet. "I know when I've been beat. You'd better be really impressive with dinner, though, or I'll find a new cook!"

"You won't find a new navigator so easily!" She called after him. "Or a new best friend! Besides, we need that loot from Balfonheim to be able to fill our pantry!"

Their lives had fallen into a comfortable routine – days of looting, nights of flying over Ivalice. It was a wonderful life - they never went hungry, never worried from whence their next meal would come. Dalmasca's liberation had meant theirs as well, and freedom was a wonderful thing.

Unlike Vaan, Penelo wasn't out to make a name for herself – though she enjoyed flying with Vaan and exploring the world, she preferred cooking and navigating to looting. Eventually, she imagined she would save enough money to purchase a home for herself – maybe a small villa in Rabanastre, and a small airship she could use for traveling. Perhaps she could open up a shop – a restaurant, maybe, or a dance studio.

She diced carrots, tossing a handful into a bubbling pot on the stove. Yes, a restaurant, she decided. That would be wonderful. She could invent new recipes – and with a place of her own and a thriving business (assuming she was successful) she could sponsor some of Rabanastre's orphans in the same way that Migelo had sponsored Vaan and her.

Potatoes were next – neatly skinned and chopped even as Penelo was lost in thought. She knew it wasn't wise to count her chocobos before they'd hatched, but she'd been steadily putting money away from her share of their loot, and if their luck continued, she'd have enough to start a business in a year or so. And if Vaan had his way, and they got a little more daring in their exploits, even sooner than that.

"Mind your pot; it's near to boiling over."

Still lost in reverie, she accepted the long spoon shoved into her hand, leaning over to stir the pot. Then, just before she dipped it into the bubbling stew, a little shudder slid down her spine, aware of the warm body so close behind her. That had _not_ been Vaan's voice. A strangled cry gurgled up in her throat, stifled by a warm hand before it could escape.

"For god's sake, don't do that. I prefer my eardrums _un_ruptured, if you please."

A decidedly feminine sigh followed the wry statement. "It is not necessary to frighten the child, Balthier," Fran said disapprovingly.

Penelo wrenched his hand away from her mouth. "That wasn't very nice," she accused.

"Neither was stealing my handkerchief," he countered neatly, holding out his hand. "I'll have it back now."

She widened her eyes innocently. "Whatever are you talking about, Balthier?"

Fran made an inelegant sound, midway between a snort and a chuckle. "She lies as prettily as you," she said to Balthier.

"How'd you two get here?" Penelo rinsed her hands in the sink and turned down the heat, covering the pot to simmer. "I thought you two were supposed to be meeting up in Balfonheim Port, anyway."

"Hitched a lift," he said. "Fran wrapped up her affairs sooner than expected, and I picked her up. We've got the _Strahl _coming up behind."

"_Hitched a lift_?" she repeated doubtfully. "You can't just _hitch a lift _on an airship. Especially not one mid-flight. How did you work that one out?"

"A well-executed float spell, with Fran's assistance, of course." He motioned vaguely. "The mechanics are unimportant. I believe you invited us to dinner. If the offer yet stands, we're here to take you up on it."

"Oh. Oh, of course. I'll…um, I'll have to make a bit more if it'll be the four of us, now, but –"

"It'll be the seven of us," Balthier corrected, "if you'll dock the _Galbana _and let the _Strahl _catch up."

Oh, right. _Someone _had to be flying the ship.

"Seven," she said weakly. "I'll probably need a little help with the cooking, then."

"I will lend assistance," Fran volunteered. "If you have need of it."

"Well, that leaves me to explore, then," Balthier said easily. "I'll go seek out Vaan, I think…"

"_I _think _not_," Penelo answered curtly. Conning Vaan into throwing Penelo off the ship and searching for the handkerchief she'd stolen from him were far more likely scenarios than Balthier innocently exploring the ship. "_You _can stay here and help, too. And tell me about who else we'll be entertaining tonight."

She dug through her drawers, offering him the girliest, frilliest, pinkest apron she could find. He scowled at the offending object, eyeing Fran's plaid checkered apron and Penelo's plain, servicable white apron with something akin to envy.

"No one special," he said irritably, tying the apron around his waist. "Just Basch, Lady Ashe, and Larsa."

Penelo's trembling fingers opened, dropping the knife she was holding. "Oh," she said. "It's…it's been a long time since we were all together. Over a year, now. It'll be…nice, I think. I'll dock the ship – the Uplands are safe enough." She untied her apron, heading towards the control panels of the ship. As soon as she was out of sight, Balthier tossed off the pink apron, grabbing up the plain one she'd left behind.

Penelo clicked through docking options impatiently. Somehow the whole situation had a vaguely surreal feel – she had thought it unlikely that she and all her erstwhile comrades would ever be together again. It just wasn't feasible – or sensible – considering their professions and political responsibilities. Had Balthier known that she'd wished for some sort of reunion? And even if he had, why had he gone so far out of his way just for her?

She shook her head as if to clear it. It made little sense to invent answers herself. She'd be wiser to wait for what Balthier revealed himself.

In the kitchen, Balthier and Fran were bent over a couple of onions, cutting chunks for the pot of stew. He'd stolen her apron, but she supposed in the circumstances she could forgive him that. Wordlessly she took the pink apron and put it on, then disappeared into the pantry to fetch a few loaves of bread. The refrigerator yielded up another large slab of meat that she could brown on the stove and then toss into the stew, as well as additional vegetables and the makings of a salad.

"I'm sure Lady Ashe and Larsa are very busy," Penelo began. "How did you get them to come?"

"Kidnapping and coercion," Fran stated matter-of-factly. "Balthier has no shame."

"None at all," he agreed cheerfully, and Penelo didn't know quite what to make of the wicked grin he flashed in her direction. "I wouldn't have had to resort to kidnapping if Basch would've let Larsa out of his studies for one day. But it turned out that the young emperor was only too eager to help plan his own kidnapping, and Basch was obliged to follow along after his charge. Lady Ashe was slightly less easy to convince," he sighed. "Eventually, however, her guilt got the best of her. She ended up cancelling three public appearances, a formal luncheon, and what promised to be a spectacularly boring state dinner."

"Her guilt?" Puzzled, Penelo set the oven timer as she slid in three pans of garlic bread. She could not imagine that Lady Ashe would have anything whatsoever to feel guilty about.

"About you, Penelo," Balthier said. "She left you and Vaan to fend for yourselves after all you had done for her."

"She didn't…I mean, we weren't…it wasn't…" Penelo took a deep, steadying breath. "We understood. We learned how to take care of ourselves. She didn't have anything to feel guilty about. We never expected anything of her."

"Whether or not you expected it is not the point," he said peevishly, a little annoyed by her unassuming manner. "You were children, left on your own after giving so much and asking nothing in return. I merely reminded her of her obligations to her loyal supporters." Just _once _he wished she would display some sort of selfishness, show some silly flaw that would make her something more earthly and less ethereal. Maybe it would make her more attainable…or at least let him feel less guilty over the general direction of his thoughts where she was concerned.

"Fantastic," Penelo sighed. "Just what I always wanted to be. An obligation." She turned, setting a stack of plates in his arms. "You can go set the table."

"That is _not_ what I meant," he muttered, wondering if the ability to twist his words like a professional constituted a flaw. But he took the dishes and headed for the table a couple of yards away, in the common area.

The metal doors to the bridge slid open with a faint hiss, and three familiar figures stepped through them. Her pulse raced inexplicably – even if they hadn't really wanted to come, her heart warmed just to see them again. The second family she'd lost, but not to death – to duty and inattention.

"Penelo." Ashe embraced the younger girl fondly. "You're looking well. It's good to see you again. How is Vaan?"

"The same, I think. We've been awful busy, lately. We're, ah…in the business of…" Penelo hesitated – it was one thing to be a sky pirate and quite another to admit it to a woman who commanded a kingdom.

"Sky pirating," Balthier put in matter-of-factly. "The girl adores it; I can't convince her to give it up." He arched an eyebrow, folding his arms as he watched her squirm, curious to see how she'd talk herself out of the situation.

"That's strange – I haven't heard reports of any new sky pirates in the area."

"That's because we've never been spotted. I don't think anyone has ever noticed they've been hit, anyway. We only steal from people who won't notice the things we've taken. We don't want to be famous or...or rich, even. We're just trying to make a living." Penelo fisted her hands in her apron – she knew Ashe did not approve of sky pirating, and she didn't really like the thought of facing Ashe's censure.

Ashe's face changed – it was just as Balthier had said, Penelo could read the guilt in her face.

"I'm sorry I left you on your own," she said. "There was so much more I should have done for the two of you."

"I don't know what _he _told you," Penelo said, darting a glare at Balthier. "But we're fine. Really. We've been on our own for a long time. We know how to take care of ourselves. You shouldn't feel guilty for that. I just…we spent so long together, I just sort of…missed everyone."

"Hey, Penelo, why'd we land? We were making good time to Balfonheim –" Vaan careened out of the corridor, pausing mid-sentence when he saw a roomful of familiar faces staring back at him. "Well, uh…this is a surprise."

"Penelo invited us for dinner when she and I met by chance in Rabanastre," Balthier said smoothly. "We decided to bring along some old friends."

"You never mentioned seeing Balthier," Vaan remarked, watching Penelo suspiciously.

Bright color suffused Penelo's cheeks. "I-I didn't think it was that important," she replied.

"You didn't think it was important that a rival sky pirate showed up in our area?" He planted his hands on his hips, frowning.

"Sorry, I had other things on my mind." She headed for the stove to check the stew. "Besides, it was just Balthier. He's harmless."

Balthier spluttered indignantly. "_Harmless_?"

"Yes." She glared over the pot of stew. "Like a kitten. Or a bunny."

"Penelo, can I help with something?" Larsa asked, skirting around Basch to enter the kitchen. "I don't imagine I'd be any help with the cooking, but I'd be glad to help with anything else."

Penelo shook her head. "Once Balthier stops stalling and finishes setting the table, I think it'll be time to eat. But thanks for offering." She smiled. "It's been a while. You must've put on a couple of inches at least since I last saw you." It was true – fourteen-year-old Larsa was already taller than she was, and likely not yet finished growing.

"So it would seem." He patted the top of her head as she removed a pan of garlic bread from the oven. "Or perhaps you've just gotten shorter. Allow me," he said, slipping on a spare pair of oven mitts to retrieve the other two pans of bread. "I'm glad Balthier came for us – Basch seldom allows me any fun."

"He means to say I seldom allow him do anything dangerous or rash," Basch corrected. "An emperor may not simply skip his lessons whenever he pleases. You have a duty to Archadia to rule wisely, and that involves sacrifice. At this point in time, that sacrifice comes in the form of minding your lessons."

"You see?" Larsa wrinkled his nose. "No fun at all. Where shall I set these?" He indicated the plate he'd stacked with the steaming garlic bread.

"On the table is fine." She motioned. "Balthier, quit stalling. Vaan, go wash up. Basch, you'd better take off that armor before you sit down."

"Well," Balthier remarked snidely. "It's clear who issues the orders aboard the _Galbana_."

"Keep it up." Penelo shook a spoon at him menacingly. "Boys who mouth off get sent to bed without any supper."

Deciding not to tempt fate, Balthier finished laying out the silverware in silence.

Everyone gathered around the table, settling into chairs, serving themselves and passing platters as they chatted amiably. Penelo, seated between Fran and Vaan, stole a glance down the table at where Balthier was seated. In the middle of piling his plate with garlic bread, he didn't notice.

"You see?" Fran murmured, making a subtle motion to the surrounding people. "This he has done for _you_. He has gone to considerable trouble to make you happy."

Penelo colored. "I-I never asked him to," she whispered back. "I know you and Balthier have known each other a long time, and I didn't mean to…"

Fran shook her head. "This relationship you imagine, it does not exist between Balthier and I. We are partners, nothing more."

"Oh." Penelo got redder. She pushed her food around on her plate, her long bangs concealing her bright cheeks. "I just…I always assumed…"

"He does not feel that way towards me, and the Viera do not…love in the same way that Humes do." Fran shrugged elegantly. "The younger Viera are willful and susceptible to powerful Hume emotions if they leave the Wood. However, time fades passion and separates lovers when their life spans differ significantly. The older Viera are cautious. They prefer companionship to romance, and I…I have not been young for some time."

"Well, all the same," Penelo sighed, "I'm sure Balthier thinks of me as…as a sister, maybe." A _nuisance_, more likely. She knew she wasn't worldly or sophisticated enough to suit his tastes, and it would be impossible for her to attempt to conform to them – she would only end up making a fool of herself.

"It is possible that even Balthier himself is unaware of the true depth of his feelings," Fran murmured sagely. "He often pushes away or hides that which he does not wish to acknowledge. But I do not believe _brotherly _accurately describes the feelings he has towards you."

Penelo frowned skeptically, but wisely said nothing. Arguing with the Viera had availed her nothing in the past, even if she _was _convinced Fran was wrong. Balthier would make his intentions known soon enough – like as not he'd come to reclaim his handkerchief and seen an opportunity to soothe his own guilty conscience where she and Vaan were concerned while he was at it. After all, Lady Ashe hadn't been the only one to desert them.

Larsa smiled at Penelo from across the table. "This is wonderful, Penelo. You really are very talented."

"Oh." Penelo blushed helplessly as everyone's attention focused on her. "It's…It's just stew. Nothing special."

"You're too modest," Ashe admonished lightly. "It's obvious that you enjoy cooking, and you're quite good at it, besides. Have you thought of a career as a chef?"

"Actually, I _was _hoping – maybe someday, when I have the gil saved up, I mean – that I might open a restaurant. Nothing too fancy, but…but a diner, or something, maybe. Something simple. Something comfortable." Penelo shrugged, uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on her. "It was just a thought."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Ashe said. "Truly. Penelo, my feelings on sky pirating notwithstanding, I just don't think it's a life that will make you happy."

"Oh, I like traveling well enough," Penelo defended, "but I'd be happier with a career that's a bit more…stable." She smiled wryly. "Sorry, Vaan."

Vaan shrugged, biting into a piece of bread. "Can't be helped," he said. "'Sides, I knew you wouldn't be around forever."

"She shouldn't be around _at all_," Balthier murmured. "Sky pirating is not a life fit for a lady."

"Sky pirating isn't a life for _anyone_," Ashe remarked archly. "It's criminal. Penelo deserves better."

"And I don't?" Vaan inquired, offended.

"Vaan," Penelo chastised, "you _like _being on the wrong side of the law."

"True," he admitted. For a moment his expression wavered as he studied his piece of garlic bread. "I'm gonna miss your cooking, though. I could burn water."

"You'll learn to cook or you'll starve," Penelo quipped cheerily. "Necessity is the mother of Invention, after all. And sooner or later, you'll become a rich and famous sky pirate without me here to be your conscience. You'll be able to afford a crew and a cook, then."

"Penelo," Ashe chided. "Don't encourage him. There are only so many times I can pardon a notorious sky pirate before they all grow so bold that Dalmasca will be overrun with the villains." She turned her disapproval on Vaan. "Don't let me catch you practicing your larcenous trade in Dalmasca's boundaries, do you hear? I simply can't be pulling you from one scrape or another every few weeks."

"I won't," Vaan promised solemnly, snatching up another piece of garlic bread. "Or at least…I won't get caught." He snickered behind his mug at Ashe's obvious irritation.

Balthier roared with laughter, clapping Vaan jovially on the back as he made his way into the kitchen to search out a flagon of wine. "A lad after my own heart. Maybe I'll stay a while and teach you some tricks of the trade. Everything from how to pick a mark to how to pick a lock."

"_Really_?" Vaan asked eagerly. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"No catch at all," Balthier said innocently…but his eyes strayed to where Penelo was seated, glaring daggers at him. He knew she was less than pleased at him inviting himself to stay awhile on their ship. She'd be even less pleased when she found that he planned to leave Fran aboard the _Strahl_. And she'd probably be downright _angry _were she to learn that he intended to invest a great deal of his time in recovering his handkerchief. He poured himself a glass of wine, enjoying Penelo's annoyance.

"Well," Basch began, "I thank you for dinner, Penelo. Larsa, it's time to retire for the night if we are to make it to Arcades tomorrow in time for your lessons. Lady Ashe, I understand you, too, have an engagement."

Both Ashe and Larsa groaned.

Penelo jumped up, saying her goodbyes to each of them before she began clearing the table of its plates. She started with Balthier's, hoping to get him up and back onto his own ship before he caused any more problems. "Sorry you've got to go so soon," she said. "It's really too bad the _Galbana_ isn't big enough to accommodate so many guests overnight."

"Not to worry," Balthier said lightly, recovering his plate. "I'm not going."

Penelo's jaw dropped a few inches. "Not going?"

"No. Tonight Fran will stay with Basch, Lady Ashe, and Larsa aboard the _Strahl_, and _I_ will stay here." He rather liked the incredulous expression on her pretty face. He resisted the urge to tweak her pert nose.

"But…but that's not necessary! The _Strahl _is big enough for all of you, and _then _some!"

He shook his head. "Not now, I'm afraid. We had not the chance to unload all our goods before we retrieved Lady Ashe and Larsa. We've just enough bedrooms unfilled to accommodate them. You wouldn't want to tell either of Ivalice's rulers they've got to share their quarters, would you? It's just not done, I assure you. No, I shall find a suitable bedchamber aboard the _Galbana _for the duration of my stay."

"Your _stay_?" Her fingers clenched around a mug; he got the distinct impression she was considering anointing him with its contents.

"But of course. I was quite serious when I made that offer to Vaan earlier. I've information and knowledge that will no doubt prove invaluable to the lad." He crossed his arms over his chest, smiling smugly. _Checkmate_.

Her mouth closed and opened a few times before she finally gathered her thoughts enough to speak.

"That's not fair!" She whispered furiously. "That's…that's _devious_."

"No," he corrected. "That's _war_." And he reached up and tweaked her nose anyway.

She took in his expression of self-satisfaction, his cocky grin, looking down at him with grim determination. "You know, Balthier…you're _right_," she said. And upended the mug right over his arrogant head.


	3. Chapter 3

With the last dregs of his wine dripping down the back of his neck, Balthier strove for patience. He took his time schooling his features into an expression of bored nonchalance. He studied his immaculately groomed fingernails for a moment, choosing his words carefully before glancing up at Penelo again. Gratified to see she looked almost as shocked as he'd felt, he allowed himself a small smile.

"I do hope you've a washroom on this ship, as it seems I will require the use of it in relatively short order," he said.

"I…I…" Penelo swallowed down her incredulous stammer, wincing as a drop of wine slid off the end of his nose. "Down the hall. Third door on the left."

His chair scraped the floor as he stood, offering her a brief, mocking bow as he made his way towards the hallway she'd indicated.

With a small moan of embarrassment, Penelo sank down into a chair and bent over the table, resting her head on her folded arms. "I can't believe I _did _that," she gasped.

Balthier, who was not quite yet out of earshot, slid his fingers through his sticky hair appraisingly. "_I_ can," he murmured dryly.

--

Penelo cleared the table alone, packing up the remains of their dinner and washing the many and varied dishes they'd left. She didn't really mind the work, except for the tedium of it – but at least if she was absorbed in work, she could forget her embarrassment over the whole episode with Balthier.

After the last of the dishes were put away, she retrieved her baking supplies from the pantry, as well as a bag of apples, and set to making a pie crust. Engrossed in her task, she didn't register the voices coming from the hallway until after she'd slid the finished pie into the oven to bake and cleared up her mess.

"You see, Vaan, a lock is very much like a woman."

Penelo gritted her teeth in aggravation – what nonsense was that shameless womanizer teaching Vaan _now_? She peaked around the corner to see Vaan and Balthier on their knees before the storeroom, the room in which all of their loot was kept – the room with a lock to which only Penelo held a key, as Vaan couldn't be trusted to spend wisely.

"You can't just go brutishly charging in – she'll rebuff you every time. You've got to exercise great care and skill." Balthier slipped a thin, curved tool into the small padlock, feeling for the pins. "Move at her pace, advance no further than she willingly yields or you risk damaging her – and that will benefit no one." He slipped the lock pick further, tripping pins with ease. "Above all, remember this: Finesse, my lad, will avail you everything. Treat her gently and –" with a last, final _click_, the padlock dropped off the door into his palm, "— she will surrender all."

Penelo's cheeks burned. For all that it was insulting, it was true – women adored Balthier, and he certainly seemed rather fond of them. Still, it was irritating to realize that he put as much effort into courting a woman as he put into picking a lock – which was to say, none. He cared for them only because 

of what he might gain from them. Both were merely prizes to be won. Well, _she'd _certainly never give him the satisfaction of…

Violently, Penelo shook her head, forcing the thought out of her mind. He'd actually have to _want _her, and he'd made it rather plain that he didn't. She was less than nothing to him – an unwanted obligation, a burden, a bother. He felt it necessary to look after her much in the manner of an older brother, and with about as much enthusiasm – he wanted her safely stowed away, probably married to a boring, financially secure man in some boring, safe city so he could wash his hands of her once and for all.

It hurt a little, knowing he couldn't wait to be rid of her, when she was practically pining away for him. Well, maybe she wasn't exactly pining away – but she knew that no other man would ever make her feel the way that Balthier did. All he had to do was look at her and her pulse ran wild, her heart thumped viciously in her chest, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. But no longer! Resolutely, she slipped on a pair of oven mitts and removed the pie from the oven. She set it on the counter to cool, rummaging through her utensil drawers for a knife and a pie server.

No more romantic girlish notions about a man she couldn't have, she decided. No more fantasies, no more daydreams, no more wishing. He _didn't _want her, and it was _far _past time she actually got that through her head. She set out some plates, dishing out a couple generous slices of the pie. No more getting weak at the knees when he looked at her. No more butterflies. No more fluttering pulse. She retrieved a set of forks, laying them out. No more invitations to dinner. She heaved a sigh – she was going to have her work cut out for her, getting Balthier out of her mind and her heart.

"Ah, what have we here?"

She gasped, whirling around. She hadn't even heard him approach, but there he was, surveying her as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking. Her fingernails bit into the marble countertops, knuckles turnings white with strain. _Butterflies, go away!_

Balthier reached for a plate and fork, eyeing the slice of pie speculatively. "A peace offering, perhaps?" His cool gaze slid over her. She wondered if he knew her knees were shaking. He sketched a bow. "Very well, I accept. Although, if you don't mind, I'd much rather eat it than wear it."

He lifted the plate, snickering at her dumbfounded expression as he retired to the bedchamber he'd commandeered, leaving Penelo in the kitchen to seethe over his teasing remarks.

--

The handkerchief was right where she'd left it – in the musical jewelry box she kept on her bedside table. Though she supposed she'd have to give it back to him, as it wouldn't do to keep mementos of someone she planned to forget, she couldn't resist pulling it out one last time to look at it.

It had changed little over time, still as crisp and white as she remembered. Only now one edge was decorated with a small, rusty bloodstain from her unfortunate fall. She ran her fingers along one corner until she felt small, raised stitches. She examined it closer, and there it was – the tiny heart she'd embroidered on the fabric more than a year ago. It was how she'd known he'd kept the handkerchief. She'd felt the slight coarseness of the thread she'd used on her cheek when he'd pressed the handkerchief there and had _known _it was the same one. Small wonder he'd never noticed it – the heart itself was tiny, no more than a quarter of an inch in size, and the white thread she'd used was the just the exact shade of the fabric. And he'd probably not been looking for a ridiculous declaration of love from an penniless orphan child, anyway.

She opened the small drawer in her nightstand, reaching for her sewing kit. But even as she pressed the seam-ripper to the first small stitch, she couldn't quite make herself tear the tiny heart out of the handkerchief. With a sigh of annoyance, she shoved the seam-ripper and the handkerchief into the music box. Then she dragged the covers over her head, berating herself for her misplaced sentimentality, and willed herself to go to sleep.

--

The lock quickly gave under Balthier's careful ministrations. Without young Vaan beside him, observing, Balthier was free to move at a faster pace with no concern that the youth might miss an important bit of information or trick of the trade. He turned the handle gently, smoothly pushing the door open so that the hinges made no noise. Silently he slipped inside the room, softly closing the door behind him.

A small lamp glowed in the corner, spreading its faint light throughout the room. The owner of the room, however, lay asleep in the large bed that dominated the room. The rest of the furniture consisted of a dresser, a nightstand, and a vanity, all of which would take relatively little time to search, provided he could do so without waking the room's occupant.

Still, he wasn't a sky pirate and a master thief for nothing. He set to work, starting with the vanity, whose polished drawers contained only a small hand mirror, a hair brush, and a few assorted hair ribbons. Obviously Penelo had better things to spend her money on than jewelry and other fripperies.

He moved on to her dresser, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. He'd never had an issue or an attack of conscience as a thief before, but it was different, invading Penelo's privacy. It felt _wrong_, and he wasn't sure why it should feel wrong with her and only her. Indecision tore at him. He'd come here for a reason, to retrieve his handkerchief. She'd as much as given him permission – hell, she'd practically _invited _him to snoop through her things when she'd written that he'd have to come get it himself. It was _expected _for him to be sneaky and underhanded in the retrieval of the handkerchief. After all, she'd been just about as sneaky in stealing it in the first place.

But still he hesitated. He stole a glance over his shoulder to see her pale blonde head on the pillow, hair tangled about her face in charming disarray. Her features were relaxed in sleep, lips drawn into the faintest of pouts as though she subconsciously knew he was snooping through her things and disapproved. And there, on the nightstand beside her, was a small, gold box.

It looked rather costly, and it obviously held a place of honor in her room. Curiosity overrode scruples. He crossed the floor, taking care to step lightly, scrutinizing the box for a moment, he slid his fingers delicately over the lid as though he suspected it might be a trap of some sort. Then he carefully picked it up, lifted the lid, and peered within.

And there was his handkerchief! He almost breathed a sigh of relief – he would not have to go digging through all of her drawers after all. Box in hand, he settled gently at the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her enough to wake her, then turned his attention back to the box and its content.

The small, metal tool wrapped inside the handkerchief confused him for a moment. A seam-ripper? Why would she keep a seam-ripper with the handkerchief? None of the hemmed edges of handkerchief had needed re-stitching. Intrigued, he rubbed his fingers along the surface of the handkerchief, searching for any irregularities in the fabric. Eventually he found it – a small, raised area near one corner. He raised the fabric to his eyes, inspecting the minute cluster of stitches. The small heart surprised him – had she just sewn it on? No, upon closer examination, the stitches were not new – they had grown just a little fuzzy over time, the glossy sheen gone from the thread she'd used. She'd probably stitched it in a year ago, when he'd given it to her while they were imprisoned.

Suspiciously, he touched the handkerchief to his cheek. He could feel the raised stitches where the heart was stitched brushing against his skin.

"Ah," he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her cheek, where a small, red scrape was still visible – a remnant of her tumble in Rabanastre. "So _that's _how you knew."

He set the seam-ripper aside, wondering if it had been her intent to tear out her embroidery. Did it mean more to her than she cared to admit? Or was she planning simply to tear out the old stitches and replace them with new?

She sighed in her sleep, her lips parting just a little. He laid the handkerchief across his knee and brushed his fingers across those soft, pink lips, feeling her warm breath feather out against them. He hadn't planned to find himself seated on her bed – indeed, it was the last place in all of Ivalice he wanted to be at the moment. Well, _that_ was untrue…but the fact remained that it was the last place in all of Ivalice that he had the _right _to be, regardless of whether or not Penelo might actually want him there.

But that didn't stop him from wondering – was he master enough at thievery to steal a kiss without waking her? Before he knew it, he was leaning over her, one hand braced on the mattress beside her head, the other still clutching the gold box. He was mere inches from her lips when he came to his senses. For Ivalice's sake, this was _Penelo_. He could not _seriously _be entertaining notions of romancing his erstwhile companion. She was little more than a child! Never mind that only five years separated them; Penelo fairly glowed with that childlike innocence he found so fascinating, and damned if he was going to be the one to take it from her.

Just as he was about to draw away, he unintentionally jarredd the open box in his hand. A few delicate, musical tones drifted out, winding down into silence. _A music box! Damn it all to hell._

It was just a couple soft notes, but when Balthier turned his attention back towards Penelo, she'd awakened. And he was still seated at her bedside, leaning over her. Blast and damn! There was no getting out of the mess he'd found himself in now. There could be no mistaking his intentions. But…he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

He closed the scant inches distance between them, taking her lips in a kiss as gentle as his frustration would allow. He tasted her surprised gasp, tugged her full lower lip with his teeth, slid his tongue within the sweet inner recesses of her mouth and touched it to hers. Her hands came up – to draw him closer or push him away, he didn't know. It seemed she didn't either, for she laid her palms against his chest, but exerted no pressure, as though she herself wasn't yet sure was she wanted of him.

He fumbled with the small music box, blindly reaching out to set on the table and free his hand, which he slid into her hair, cradling the back of her neck, stroking the soft skin there. She didn't know how to kiss, it was painfully obvious – but what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. A quicker learner, she mimicked his actions flawlessly.

He touched her cheek, her shoulder, sliding his palm up and down the length of her arm, unhindered by fabric of any sort. A small alarm in his head trilled a warning. He slipped his fingers beneath the blankets, feeling only the warmth of her skin. He cupped her bare breast in his palm, and his mind shouted _Danger_! even as she gasped in shock at his boldness. He broke away, trying to ignore her moist, bruised lips or the way her breath came in rasping pants.

"Penelo," he said, dragging trembling fingers through his hair, "where are your nightclothes?"

She colored furiously, clutching the coverlet to her chin as she averted her eyes in embarrassment. "I don't…I don't wear them," she admitted, plucking nervously at the threads in the blanket. It wasn't every day a man showed up in her bedroom to kiss her senseless, after all.

He jerked away from her, with a self-deprecating laugh. "You'd better start wearing them," he advised. "And perhaps it'd be wise to start locking your door."

"I _do _lock my door," she gasped, finally realizing how he must've come to be in her room. "Which _you _had to have picked to get in here!"

"Find a better lock, Penelo." He didn't dare look at her just now – he knew she'd be pink and flushed with righteous indignation, those blue eyes glowing with ire. He didn't know if he could resist such a temptation just then. "Get a deadbolt. Push some heavy furniture in front of the door, if you must." He bent to retrieve the handkerchief from the floor where it had fallen sometime during their kiss. He touched it to his forehead in a mocking salute. "Do excuse me, I must be off."

"You can't take that!" She gasped, outraged.

He turned that cool expression on her, having composed himself well enough to risk it. He arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Are you going to stop me?"

Her face reddened again – obviously she wasn't about to fight him for it in her current state of undress, and he knew it.

"Then I'll be going. Not to worry, my dear. I'll be here instructing young Vaan for a week, perhaps two. You'll have plenty of opportunities to steal it back, if you so choose. However, I wouldn't recommend trying my tactics and sneaking into my bedchamber in the middle of the night," He said, tucking the handkerchief into his breast pocket.

Curiosity prompted her to ask, "Why not?" Would he lock her out? It wasn't fair – her lock picking skills were not nearly on par with his.

"I don't wear nightclothes, either," he said. "And I have fewer scruples than you. If I were to catch you in the act, I would not let a little thing like nudity keep me from recovering my handkerchief." His grin, as he stepped through the door, was decidedly wicked. "Fair warning, Penelo. Remember it."


	4. Chapter 4

Penelo pressed her cool hands to her hot cheeks, wondering what in the _world _had just happened. She'd awakened in a dreamy half-doze to find Balthier leaning over her wearing an expression she'd never seen before. He looked so serious, so solemn...as well as shocked and appalled to find her staring back at him. And then, when he'd bent closer and kissed her…well, she'd _never _expected that. She could still feel the press of his warm, firm lips on hers, the deep, intimate stroke of his tongue in her mouth. She'd never been kissed like that in her life. And when he'd touched her…oh, something inside her had thrilled over the heat of his hands on her body, despite how fleeting a pleasure it had been.

And to be forced to admit something as embarrassing as not wearing nightclothes! With a wretched little moan, she dived back beneath the covers, pulling them over her head. How _was _she going to face him in the morning?

--

How _was _he going to face her in the morning? Balthier lay awake, replaying the encounter in his head for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong, where he'd strayed from the path of indifference into a decidedly carnal interest in the girl. For god's sake, he didn't want to _encourage _her! _Did_ he? No, absolutely not!

But he'd never been so affected by a woman before. He stared at his fingers. They had since ceased their trembling – which they ought never have started in the _first_ place. Why was it _Penelo _who affected him as she did? It made _no _sense. She wasn't particularly bold or seductive. She couldn't even properly _flirt _with him.

God, what if he'd _frightened _her? A girl like Penelo couldn't be expected to understand or anticipate a man's hungers. What if she'd been so shocked because he'd actually scared her with the force of his ardor?

It was just his luck that the girl didn't wear nightclothes. Just his luck that he'd been unable to resist that soft, pink mouth, just his luck that she'd awakened at such an inopportune moment.

Just his luck that she'd been such a responsive little thing. Just his luck that she was even more appealing to him now than she had been to him before. He didn't have anything to do with virgins as a general rule – they grew too attached too quickly, required far too much patience and teaching, and the whole deflowering process was messy and uncomfortable for both parties. No, he preferred his women experienced and knowledgeable.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, if he ever took her to his bed, little innocent Penelo would teach him just as much as he would teach her.

Groaning, he pressed his fingers over his eyes, praying for sleep to come.

--

Penelo was up and cooking a full two hours before she normally would even have been awake – but she'd invited Ashe, Larsa, Basch, and Fran over for breakfast before they had to return to their respective kingdoms. All were partaking of the food quite happily, when Balthier emerged from the hallway. Penelo avoided looking at him, but no one else failed to miss the way she flushed and turned away when Balthier approached.

She shoved a plate at him hastily, muttered some excuse, and fled the kitchen. Balthier watched her go with raised eyebrows. Then he filled his plate, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table.

"So," Larsa began, with all the tact of a fourteen-year-old, "what happened between you and Penelo, Balthier?"

Balthier choked on his coffee, glaring across the table at the boy.

"That," he said stiffly, "is none of your business."

"Anything that involves Penelo is my business," Larsa retorted. "She's like family. It's my job to take care of her." He leveled a look at Balthier that would have made a lesser man flinch. "If you do anything to make her unhappy, rest assured that you will answer to me."

"And me," Ashe seconded, looking forbidding and just as arrogant as she always accused him of being. "Penelo is a too good for the likes of _you_."

Irritated, Balthier glowered at them. "I have no designs on your precious little charity case," he remarked sourly. "She's just a child, after all."

"Lies," Fran said smoothly. "Her scent lingers on you."

Balthier frowned. Fran had never remarked on his women before or even given any indication that she'd known about them, as he strove for discretion in all matters. However, it was not unlikely that she _could _smell Penelo on him, as the nose of a Viera was famously sensitive. Just because she had never mentioned it before did not mean she did not notice. And he would be wise to remember that in the future, lest he make an ass of himself again.

And he couldn't protect himself from their censure if even _Fran's _protective instincts had been roused. What _was _it about Penelo that made everyone so damn sheltering?

"You'd do better just to stay away from her entirely," Ashe said. "She's not sophisticated. She can't play your games. It's unfair to even put her in that position. She won't know how to defend herself against you."

If only he _could _keep himself away from her! "There's no need to rally for the virtue of your _helpless charge_. I'm here to instruct Vaan. Nothing more." He stared down Ashe and Larsa and resisted stating his lack of desire for her for fear that Fran might call his bluff. Surprisingly enough, Larsa and Ashe looked away guiltily. Immediately suspicious, Balthier turned a little in his chair. Penelo stood behind him, hands clenched in small fists at her sides. She looked _furious_.

"_Charity case_?" She inquired. "_Helpless_?"

He winced as she reached for his half-full mug of coffee and tipped the liquid over his head. Twice she had baptized him with beverages in less than twenty-four hours…and he had _let _her. Perhaps this time he felt he owed her her rage and the opportunity for a little revenge. How was it that he – normally so _good _with women – could be so downright _miserable _where she was concerned?

"And _you_!" She turned her wrath on Ashe and Larsa, who had the grace to flush, embarrassed. "You're as bad as _him_!" She jerked her thumb at Balthier, who wisely held his tongue. Even Fran looked duly chastised, as she'd told a secret that hadn't been hers to tell.

Balthier closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to avoid saying something he might later regret. He pushed back his chair, feeling the coffee soaking into the crisp, white linen of his shirt. The _second_ ruined one. Coffee stained as badly as wine, after all.

"I'm so angry, I could just…just…" She gave a little frustrated cry, her fingernails digging tiny crescents into her palms. "I _don't _require protection," she bit out. "I can take care of myself! I've been doing well enough on my own for the past year, haven't I?"

Ashe winced as the deliberate barb sunk in. "Penelo, we only want the best for you…" she began, attempting to placate Penelo.

"I'm _not_ a child; _stop _treating me like one!" She turned her back on them, stomping away.

Silence reigned until a door slammed down the hallway.

"_That _is the girl you imagine needs your protection?" Balthier asked. "_Really_? It appears as though the girl you think to be some sort of shy, shrinking violet is more than capable of fighting her own battles. In future, it would be much appreciated if you would kindly mind your own business." He wiped his sticky fingers on his napkin. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall make use of the washroom. Again." He stalked away, mentally reminding himself to retrieve double the number of shirts he would require from his cabin aboard the _Strahl_ for his stay on the _Galbana_. At the rate she was going, Penelo would exhaust his supply of them in just a few days.

--

Penelo shoved her feet into her boots, lacing them up quickly and efficiently.

"_Helpless_," she muttered to herself. "Poor little Penelo. Helpless. Hopeless. Weak. Pathetic." She scoffed, reaching for her gun belt. "I'll show them how _helpless _I am." She checked her ammunition supply, stocked up on a couple of hi-potions and ethers, and headed for the bridge.

She set her jaw stubbornly, pointedly ignoring the party still gathered around the table.

Larsa stood as she approached. "Penelo, I apologize for my behavior," he said. "We spoke only out of concern for you, not because we doubt your ability to take care of yourself or make your own decisions." He offered her a hesitant smile. "There are plenty of unscrupulous characters in the world, and you are so _good_."

Penelo pinched the bridge of her nose. It was hard to stay angry at Larsa – he was so sincere in his brotherly concern that she couldn't help but forgive him.

"You're forgiven." She waved absently. "I'm still angry. But you're forgiven." She tied her hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face. "Excuse me. I'm going to go vent my frustration on some fiends."

"_Alone_?" Ashe gasped. "You can't go alone. The Uplands are filled with fiends; it's too dangerous!"

Penelo shot a speaking glance in Ashe's direction. "I've got a gun. I can take care of myself. I _don't_ need a keeper."

"I didn't mean it like that," Ashe responded immediately. "I only meant...won't you wait for Vaan or Balthier?"

"Vaan's not awake," Penelo replied, deliberately omitting Balthier from her response. He she had _not _forgiven. "You'd better go. You'll be late for your appointments." She didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her satchel of supplies, slung it over her shoulder, and disembarked the ship.

"Well." Ashe sighed, unaccustomed to having her will flouted so boldly. "What shall we do, now? Do we go after her?"

"No," Basch said. "I fear she would take it poorly. We don't have the time to waste, besides. We'll wait to leave until Balthier returns. Once he's apprised of her current location, he may decide what to do for her."

--

Penelo walked. The sun beat down upon her back, but a cool breeze whistled across the plains, soothing away the heat of the sun. The larger fiends seemed supremely uninterested in her for the most part, although she did have a rather unpleasant run-in with a Malboro Overking early in on her trek.

She quickly dispatched a number of smaller fiends, collecting some loot as she went. It felt good to release her frustration, and it had been a while since she'd gone fiend-hunting, anyway. Her marksmanship was as good as ever. She wondered if they'd think her so helpless if they could see her now – blasting through the fiends as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

It grew steadily more humid as she trekked further and further away. She made her way north, towards the Sochen Cave Palace. She emerged through the small passage between the cliffs, disappointed to see black storm clouds roiling in the distance – they were moving quickly in her direction. She quickly tucked her recently acquired Coeurl pelts into her satchel, hoping she'd find shelter long enough for them to stay warm and dry, as there was no way she would make it back to the _Galbana _in time to avoid being thoroughly soaked, and with the electricity crackling through the air, it looked as though attempting to make the trip back might not be the safest of ideas, anyway.

She trudged further along the eastern edge of the area, where she knew of some small, uninhabited caves. She might have to drive off a few minor fiends, but she'd be safe and secure within. A cluster of Coeurls blocked her path – she did not have time to skirt around them. At a safe distance, she reloaded her gun, slowly took aim, and fired. She dispatched two with relative ease, but the third was proving itself incredibly agile. It evaded several of her shots, then got in a good slash while she reloaded. Finally she took it out, wincing as she felt her scraped side protesting. She fumbled for a potion.

As she lifted the tiny bottle to her lips, she heard the low rumble of a growl behind her even over the fizzle of the thunder.

She turned.

The Coeurl pounced.

Penelo screamed.

--

"She's _what_?" Balthier stared at Basch as though he'd gone quite insane. "You _let _her leave the ship alone? In _this _weather?"

"Actually, the weather seemed rather temperate when she left," Larsa said. "But what else were we to do? We couldn't accompany her, and she rejected Ashe's suggestion that she wait for you or Vaan. She _did _seem to be in quite a fit of pique, still."

Balthier stared incredulously at the lot of them. "So, do I have this correctly – you allowed her to leave, possibly risking her life, because you didn't want to upset her further? Have you all gone _mad_? Is it possible you do not remember voyaging through these parts just a year ago? How difficult it was, even for a complete party? Fran, even _you _had to be revived several times on the journey. And you have allowed a young girl out there, _alone_? You would rather risk her _death_ than her anger?"

Obviously, none of them had thought past escaping Penelo's ire. He threw up his hands in consternation. "Go. You've passed along your message. I'mgoing after Penelo. _Someone's _got to ensure she doesn't get herself killed."

"I'll stay." Ashe stood. "I'll help you search for her. I should never have let her go in the first place. It was irresponsible to allow her pride to get in the way of her safety. You're correct in that, Balthier."

He knew how much it must have galled her to admit that she might've been wrong for once while he, a notorious ne'er-do-well, might be correct for a change.

"I will go as well," Fran said.

"And I," Larsa declared.

"We should all go," Basch decided.

Balthier was pleased at their show of dedication – however, he had to decline their offer. "You can't come. We can't have a large party in the midst of a thunderstorm; it's the surest way to get us all killed. I'll go alone." He made a quick inventory of his ammunition, loading the cylinder of his gun. "Leave if you must, stay if you like. It matters not. I will retrieve Penelo."

--

The rain pelted down heavily, icy and stinging. Thunder crackled ominously in the distance. Balthier moved quickly along the trail, as the copious rainfall was quickly washing away all traces of Penelo's path. Most of the fiends had taken shelter from the bitter storm, leaving Balthier's path relatively unhindered. The grassy slopes were slippery with the rain and mud, and he trudged along irritably, wondering if this counted as the _third _shirt that Penelo had had a hand in ruining.

He stared ahead – her trail had disappeared. The rain had washed away the last of it. So which way had she gone? North, towards the Sochen Cave Palace or east towards the Cerobi Steppe? North, east, north, east – he couldn't make up his mind which to take, and every moment he tarried was another moment he left her in danger.

A high, thin scream rent the air, even over the sound of rumbling thunder. The panic in that pathetic sound made his heart leap into his throat – it had come from the north! He wasted no time, knowing that by the time he reached her, it might already be too late.

He ran through the passage, bursting out into the large, open area, scanning for any sign on Penelo. The grey clouds had darkened the sky to a near-night hue, washing the area in shadows. There was little movement, save for the thrashing of the trees and bushes in the high winds. Then he saw her – near the eastern wall – standing amidst a cluster of bodies, the remnants of the fiends that had attacked her.

As he got closer, he saw that her arms and chest were coated in scarlet – unmistakable for anything but blood. She wasn't moving. She was simply standing there, letting the rain wash it away. Her face was turned upwards, eyes closed. The rain had plastered her hair to the back of her neck, turning the pale blonde strands to a richer gold. She clutched a dagger in one fist.

She heard him approach, turning to look at him. For a moment she stared uncomprehendingly, water dripping off her little pointed chin. Alarmed, he ran his hands over her shoulders, searching for tears in her clothes where she might've sustained injuries. The blood washed away from her stomach, revealing smooth, pale, unmarked skin.

"Are you okay?" There was still _so _much blood. "Where are you hurt?"

Thunder snapped overhead – lightning struck a dead tree a hundred yards away, making the ground tremble beneath them. He grabbed her hand, sprinting for the eastern wall. The closest cave was relatively small – roughly twenty feet in diameter. The ceiling was high, though, plenty high enough for him to get a fire going without worrying whether or not the smoke would linger too closely.

As soon as it became clear they were alone in the cave, and unlikely to be ambushed by territorial fiends, he holstered his gun and turned his attention back to Penelo, who lingered at the entrance.

"Where are you hurt?" He repeated, wishing he was as adept at healing spells as he was at elemental magic. But then, healing had always been Penelo's realm of expertise.

She blinked, her spiky black lashes framing misty blue eyes. Finally she snapped out of her haze. "I'm not hurt," she said through lips turning blue with cold.

"I heard you scream." God, he didn't want to remember the way his blood had run cold with that terrified sound.

"Oh." She took a shuddering breath. "A Coeurl snuck up on me. I didn't have time to shoot." She patted the dagger she'd slipped into the sheath at her waist. "Got it right across the throat, but it bled all over me. It'll take me forever to get the stains out."

He knew she was in shock, that she sounded so nonchalant only because she hadn't yet come to grips with her own fear, but it still infuriated him to hear her talking about something as menial as _laundry _when she'd come so close to death.

He gritted his teeth, but she seemed not to notice his aggravation.

"I'm going to start a fire," she announced, heading further into the cave. "There's a box back here; if there's nothing flammable inside it, we can break it up and use it for firewood." She dropped her satchel on the hand ground beside the box, lifted the heavy lid, and rummaged through it.

"What've you got there?" Balthier asked.

"Blankets. A pillow. A couple of logs and some tinder. Something that looks like jerky. It's probably someone's emergency rations. We'll have to replace it later." She pulled out a couple of logs, tossing them towards the middle of the chamber. "There's enough wood to last for maybe a day." The blankets were old, ratty and thin, but mercifully clean-looking. "I've got a couple of Coeurl pelts in my satchel. Those will make decent pallets, at least."

She grabbed up a couple of fistfuls of the dried leaves, scattering them liberally around the small pile of logs. With a quick fire spell, the tinder caught fire, setting the logs ablaze. Light chased the shadows from the cave. She knelt before the fire, the flames lending a rosy glow to the complexion that had been eerily pale earlier.

She stared at the fire, but didn't really see it. He didn't know what was going on inside her head, but he didn't much care for the blank expression on her face. A few moments later, she rose and reached for her satchel. From it she pulled two Coeurl pelts – they'd been protected from the storm by the leather of the bag and so had remained dry. She tossed one to him from across the cave and laid hers out a few feet from the fire.

"You can have the pillow," she offered generously, retrieving a blanket from the box. There was no anger in her tone, but nor was there anything to suggest she felt anything for him, no warmth or familiarity. She looked at him with empty eyes. "If you don't mind, would you turn your back for a minute?"

He did as she asked, hearing the tell-tale sounds of wet fabric dropping to the floor. He imagined her skin, golden in the flickering firelight, goose bumps chasing across smooth flesh from the cool wind still blowing in. The small, thin blanket would be wrapped around her, strategically secured to bare her delicate shoulders, the soft swell of her breasts–

"Okay. I'm done."

_Damn_. He'd allowed his libido to run away with him again. He had far too vivid an imagination and too little self-control for comfort. At least where she was concerned. He'd never before even been tempted to throw away his principles, and here was this girl, this _child_, making him want things he never had before, forcing him to worry about her, so fierce and full of pride that it astonished him.

He didn't _like _worrying about people. He didn't want personal ties. Even his ties to Fran were business related – she could take care of herself, she didn't _need _him, they didn't _need _each other. But Penelo _did_. Oh, she might currently be filled with offended pride, and she might be a fair sight more capable than he'd originally thought her, but he had the frightening suspicion that, had he not happened along, she would _still _be standing outside, in the middle of the storm. Penelo neededsomeone, and he most _certainly _did not like _caring_.

Scowling, he flicked open the buttons on his vest, flinging the garment aside. Then he jerked his shirt over his head, turning to face Penelo. She was already abed, facing away from him. Her clothes were laid out neatly before the fire, leaving plenty of space available for his. Her damp hair was caught in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and the blanket was pulled up over her shoulders. It was short, even for her. She had to curl up a little to fit beneath it. He wondered how he was expected to cover himself, if the blanket she'd left him matched hers in length.

He laid his clothes out near the fire to dry, wrapping the blanket around his hips as he spread the Coeurl pelt on the hard ground. As considerate as it was for her to offer the pillow, he was a little irritated: it was a man's right to be chivalrous and she'd stolen that from him. Unreasonably irritated, he tossed the pillow onto the pelt and dropped down upon it. Damn it all, he was going to _enjoy _that pillow even if it _killed_ him!

And he'd been right; the blanket was about two feet too short to cover him. Worse, when he tucked up his knees, _other _bits stuck out, and that was significantly more uncomfortable than his cold toes. He bit back a sigh.

The storm raged without, sending the occasional small spray of freezing rain into the cave. Penelo, who was too close to the opening of the cave, began to shiver. He hadn't meant to watch her, but he felt it almost his _duty _to watch over her. It hurt something in him to watch her shaking so violently with the cold – everything in him that had ever laid claim to the title of 'gentleman' rebelled at the idea of leaving her there. Still, he did not imagine she would welcome his interference.

But then her teeth began to chatter. Her pride be damned, he would not allow her to have her fit of pique any longer! He padded silently across the cold ground until he reached her, then he knelt at her side.

"Penelo?" He touched her shoulder. She jerked away.

"L-leave me a-l-lone," she stammered.

He let out a rough sigh. "You're freezing. _I'm _freezing. We've no other alternative."

"Yes, we d-do!" She turned towards him, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed with anger – or was it embarrassment over his state of undress? "We're n-not going to f-freeze to d-death!"

"No, likely not," he agreed, "but I've no intention of listening to your teeth chattering all night. So, up you go."

He slipped one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Gasping, she clutched at the blanket as it slipped from beneath her. He could feel her cool, bare skin against his arms. The blanket billowed around her, shielding in her from his view. She kept a firm grip on the edges of it, holding it tightly to her as she glared up at him mutinously. He knew she'd be struggling if not for the precarious position she was in. Ducking down, he shifted her briefly to snatch up the remaining pelt, and strode across the floor to his own pallet. He spread the extra pelt down atop his own, then carefully set Penelo on it. She tucked her blanket about her, ensuring that she was properly covered, even as he sat beside her, stretching out on the makeshift bed.

"Lie down," he ordered gently, pressing her back against the pillow. "Try to sleep."

"I don't think it's even past mid-day yet," Penelo groused, shaking off his hand. "How am I supposed to sleep?"

"Regardless of the hour, you must be exhausted. I saw the trail of devastation you left in your wake," he said. "You took out fiends strong enough to defeat an entire party, and you did it _alone_. I imagine that takes a lot out of someone."

It had. Her shoulders ached, her chest hurt, and she still trembled with a mixture of fear and anticipation – though she suspected that had more to do with Balthier and his nearness than the fiends in the area.

"Think on it," he continued, "no Vaan to feed, no laundry to do, no navigating to perform, no expectations." Again his hand smoothed over her shoulder, sinking into her hair, slipping it free of its binding. He did it almost unconsciously, as though he wasn't even aware that he was wrecking havoc on her senses.

"I wish you wouldn't," she said slowly.

"Wouldn't what?" He inquired, his fingers stilling their soft stroking through her hair.

"Touch me like that." Her fingers were curled in small fists beneath her chin, desperately resisting the urge to stretch and purr like a kitten under his soothing touch. She did not want him to see how badly she was affected by him. Not when she'd resolved to get over her foolish infatuation. Not when he'd thoroughly pissed her off. Not when he was so close and so warm and they were both so _naked_.

Balthier frowned, withdrawing just a little. Was she truly frightened of him? Had he truly destroyed any semblance of friendship and camaraderie that had ever been between them?

"As you say, then," he responded. Shifting a little, he flung the edge of his blanket over her, sharing both it and the heat of his body with her. He dropped his head onto the pillow beside hers, resolved to stay very still to give her time to realize that he had no plans to attack her – that he would protect her. Perhaps then she would stop being afraid of him.

Penelo had been so cold just a few minutes before, but now she was not – heat rolled off of Balthier in waves, surrounding her in a comforting cocoon of warmth. She didn't miss the added weight of his blanket – which would have been too small for him alone, but he had decided to share with her. It was an unexpectedly sweet gesture. Even angry as she was at him, she could not fail to appreciate the thoughtfulness of it. Surely he was as freezing now as she had been a few minutes before.

Before she could stop herself, before she had the time to think through her choices, she flipped around and pressed herself against his bare chest. Wriggling, she shifted half of the blankets back over onto him, edging one of them down with her small feet so that they were layered evenly over the both of them, and they were fully covered.

Surprised, Balthier's arm slipped around her, drawing her closer. She squeaked in shock as his bare legs brushed hers, rough against her smooth, soft limbs. Her eyes squeezed closed, a violent flush spreading across her cheeks.

And that was when Balthier realized that if Penelo was afraid of someone, it wasn't him – despite her obvious embarrassment, she certainly did not fear him. He had not overwhelmed and confused her with his kiss. More likely was the probability that what Penelo feared was actually herself – rather, her reaction to him.

She kept her eyes shut tightly. He stroked his fingers through her hair even as he rebuked himself for his thoughts. She had no choice but to accept his aid – to use such a circumstance to take advantage of her feelings for him as well would be unconscionable. What sort of man would take advantage of a woman in such a position?

But even as he thought it, a darkly tempting answer rose in his mind. What sort of man, indeed?

_His _sort.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Please note the changed rating.

Desire slammed into his gut, throwing him for a loop. It never ceased to amaze him that it was Penelo who tied him into knots. Yet he knew that even if he wanted her – even if _she _wanted _him _– it wasn't right. He had more honor than to shamelessly seduce an innocent young girl. And if he were to do so, it certainly wouldn't be in a cold, drafty cave. Circumstances had placed her in his care, but they did not permit the taking of liberties. And with the way she was trembling, he didn't think he ought to be entertaining notions of it, anyway.

With a rough sigh, he pulled the blanket up. Her head and shoulders disappeared beneath the shelter of the worn linen. His hand cupped the back of her head through the blanket, urging her a little closer to him. He felt more than heard the slight catch of her breath, the warm, tiny puff of air against his throat.

"Sleep," he murmured. "You've had a hard time of it today. Just…sleep." His fingers moved smoothly, caressingly over her back. _Sleep, and give me a few hours of peace._ Ruthlessly he shoved his own desires aside, electing for once to do right by another.

Maybe it was easier for her to relax when she didn't have to look at him. Maybe she was just exhausted. Whatever the reason, gradually her small fists uncurled and she slid into sleep. Unconsciously she sidled closer, seeking his warmth. Even deep in slumber she gave him no peace, he thought, as her warm breath fanned his throat. She shifted, and he felt her lips barely brush his skin just above his collarbone. He suppressed a shudder. It was definitely wrong of him to be thinking such lustful thoughts about her, especially when she had no idea just how much he truly desired her and could not, therefore, adequately protect herself against him. He had no business _looking _at her, much less _touching _her.

But he couldn't help it – her skin was silky and smooth beneath his hands. Apparently she approved of his touch, for she sighed and tucked her head beneath his chin and made small, appreciative sounds in her throat even as his exploring hands grew bolder. His fingertips stroked the underside of her breasts and she shivered against him. He drew away immediately, disgusted with himself.

Men controlled their baser urges or they were no better than the fiends and beasts of the wild. He was a man grown, and yet he hadn't felt this way since his fifteenth birthday, when his father had engaged an accomplished lady of the night to teach his son the arts of the bedchamber. Since then, he'd always been confident and poised, aloof and cool. Disinterested. Detached. His hands had never trembled. He'd never had to steal kisses and touches in the night like a thief. And though he was certain that Penelo would not refuse him, he _did _know that he should refuse _her_.

He sighed heavily. Unfair, that he should be placed in such a predicament!

Beside him, Penelo snuggled closer. Her small palms flattened against his chest, and she edged one dainty foot over his, sliding her calf up his leg. Instantly, his libido kicked into overdrive, and he grimaced. Obviously, it was going to be a long and painful wait.

--

Sometime later – hours or minutes, he had no way of knowing – a log snapped in the small fireplace, making a crackling sound that jarred him from a light doze. Somehow he too had managed to take advantage of the relative heat and comfort and get in some small amount of sleep.

The fire was slowly dying, having not been fed a log for some time. It seemed the vast majority of warmth Balthier could attribute to Penelo, who at some point had managed to wiggle her way over him, her cheek pillowed against his chest, legs spread on either side of his hips, pressed tight against his own legs to about his mid-calf.

She began to shiver, the blanket having slipped off her slender shoulders, exposing her to the cool air in the cave. He drew it back up over her, sliding one hand into the cool blonde strands of hair and the other hand gently caressing her back, skimming delicately over each vertebrae of her spine.

"Shhh," he whispered as she stirred, making a small, unintelligible sound of discontent. She settled back against him, still asleep. He wondered how she had brought herself to snuggle up against him – how she'd managed to fall asleep wrapped around him when he'd bet good money that she'd never seen a naked man in her life, much less slept with one. But now she was wrapped around him as though nothing in all of Ivalice could make her let go. He could feel her breasts against him, her soft, smooth stomach pressed to his, even her silky thighs clutching his hips.

One of his palms rested between her shoulder blades, rubbing in gentle, soothing circles. The other had settled on her lower back. There, in the fragile place between sleeping and waking, he had somehow lost the will to deny his instincts. His fingers found the warm, smooth skin of her shoulders, gliding along lax muscles, learning the curve of her elbows, the musculature of her small, delicate hands. His hands traced her slight form, found the dip of her waist, the sweet flare of her hips, the curve of her bottom, her sleek, slender thighs. She stirred just a little, her arms – which had been folded beneath her – uncurling to slide her hands over his chest to clutch his shoulders.

He'd never had a woman curled in his arms so trustingly before, had never felt such an uncharacteristic degree of tenderness towards one. He wanted to keep her there, held against him so tightly, and just…never let her go. Her warm breath caressed his jaw; her lips were just a few short inches from his.

And she was _naked_. Completely, utterly, wonderfully _naked_. And with her legs spread over his hips, he could just slide his hands between her thighs and stroke her to satisfaction. It would be so easy, so deliciously sweet to be the first to touch her, to hear her soft gasps of pleasure, to take her – _no, _he could not allow himself to go that far. Touching her was one thing, making love to her was quite another.

But he _wanted _to touch her. If he was very, very careful, he could probably bring her to climax without waking her. She would never know – likely if she remembered it at all, it would only be as a delicious dream. And by that point, he was beyond wanting. He simply couldn't _not _touch her. He was completely beyond the ability to deny himself the luxury of stroking her soft skin, sipping the sweet sighs that would no doubt tumble from her lips.

Slipping his fingers over her smooth thighs, he slowly edged them towards the warmth of the center of her body. They drifted over soft, tight curls of hair at the apex of her thighs to the silky, delicate flesh hidden beneath. He explored her gently, learning the exquisite softness of her body, the way she rocked against his fingers when he stroked her, the sweet catch in her breath when he caressed a sensitive area.

Her nails kneaded his shoulders, her breath shuddered out, and delicate little shivers wracked her body as he stroked her. By the gods, she was a sensual little thing, moving so seductively against him as if in her sleep she was trying to escape the ecstasy he forced on her. And suddenly, he couldn't resist. He gently rubbed her clit with one finger, and circled another around the entrance to her body before slowly plunging it inside.

Her breath left her on a wordless cry. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulder, and her knees trembled against his hips. Within her, her inner muscles clenched tightly around his invading fingers, so hot and tight he had to grit his teeth against the wave of need that swept over him. He continued his erotic torment, heedless of the little gasps he forced from her. She felt like warm velvet, like perfection. He envied the man who would be her first lover.

In just a few moments, he felt her bearing down on his fingers, her body wringing every last silvery bit of pleasure from him that she could. A wild, choked little sound left her tight throat, and suddenly her eyes opened – a curious blend of blue and grey, hazy with fulfillment. He knew he would never forget the sight of her like that, her pretty mouth soft and parted, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild around her lovely face. He didn't even know if she had really seen him in that moment, for just a few moments later, as her contractions eased, she slipped bonelessly down against him, muscles loose and lax, deep in slumber - exhausted.

And he was exhausted, too. He was trembling with the effort not to slide her down his body a couple of inches and thrust inside her. He stroked her damp back while he attempted to calm his rampant libido, kissing her smooth shoulder, the top of her head, her warm cheek. The man who Penelo took to her bed would be lucky, indeed.

It took him several minutes to overcome his baser instincts, especially with Penelo's arms wrapped around him, cocooning him in the scent of her sweet skin, the warmth of her body. And he still ached with unfulfilled desire, but it was an enjoyable sort of pain – because he knew that he'd pleasured her, that he'd been the first to take her to the heights of passion. He closed his eyes, savoring the memory of it.

It was calming, somehow, to have her near. Just as she drew comfort from him, using him like her own personal mattress, so did he draw comfort from her. He knew Penelo fancied herself in love with him…and maybe she really was. It would be a change. Many times in the past had women made similar claims to him – promises of undying devotion, vows of love eternal and what have you – but Balthier had always known them to be false. They loved his face, his body, his arrogance, his charm, his chosen profession. They loved the danger and intrigue that surrounded him. They loved everything superficial about his life, but they had never loved _him_.

Penelo was one of the very few who knew his background. She knew of all he'd sacrificed, of the hardships he'd faced, of the things he'd endured. She knew the circumstances which had shaped him, made him into the man he was. She knew his demons and misdeeds. She knew his _name_. She knew everything that made him who he was, and yet she still loved him. Or so he imagined. She'd never told him so. And he wondered why she had never said anything – did she _not_ love him, or did she not say the words because he'd told her in the past how irritating it had been to hear words so patently false as those? Did she fear he would reject those words from her as surely as he'd rejected them from others?

The corners of his lips turned down in a faint frown. _Surely _he was not considering accepting a declaration of love from Penelo! No matter _how _sweet her face or delectable her body or intriguing her mind, she was _still _just Penelo. She was not versed enough in the ways of pirating to accompany him, nor did she desire such a life – she had said, in fact, that she was sure it was _not _the life for her. They were too different to be able to form any sort of life together, even if she loved him, even if she soothed his restless soul. And he knew that simply putting such fanciful imaginings from his mind would not be enough – he was actually going to have to put some real distance between them to be able to thrust her firmly out of his mind. It was a dangerous game he was playing, and Penelo did not know the rules. It was unfair and unkind to treat her as an equal in a situation in which he held all the advantages.

Regardless of the promises he'd made to Vaan, it was time to leave.

Perhaps she sensed his troubled thoughts, for Penelo stirred in his arms, raising her head sleepily.

"Balthier?" She murmured his name, stretching like a drowsing kitten. Her soft hair tickled his chest, drifted brightly over his arm. She yawned, opening her eyes. Slowly it registered that she was lying atop him, and he was letting her – not just _allowing _her to be there, but actually anchoring her with one strong arm around her back.

She started to push away from him, then remembered her state of undress and thought better of it.

"Um," she began, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. "What happened?"

"I suppose at some point you decided I made a better mattress than the ground," he said dryly. "If you wish to move, I would suggest you do so carefully. No panicked thrashing while we're in such a delicate…predicament."

"I'll…I'll just go check to see if our clothes are dry. Could you…close your eyes for a few minutes?" She knew she was blushing…she only hoped the glow of the fire disguised it somewhat.

That innocent blush pricked Balthier's temper – how dared she blushas if it were _his _fault she'd climbed atop him! He thrust a hand through his hair, endeavoring to keep a sulky tone from his voice when he answered.

"By all means," he said, closing his eyes. A moment later, he felt her leg slip over his hip and her palms press against his chest as she carefully slid off of him. Cold air rushed beneath the blanket as she crept from beneath it. He heard her bare feet padding softly across the floor, heard her muttering faintly to herself and heard the rustle of cloth as she tested the dryness.

Somehow, some devil was loosed from within him – he peeked. Just a little, just from beneath his eyelashes to see if she was watching him.

She wasn't. Her back was to him as she slipped her pants over her shapely behind, knotting the drawstring band at her waist. She retrieved her small corset top, slipping it over her head. Abandoning all pretense, he opened his eyes fully, folding his arms beneath his head and admiring the view. She turned a little and adjusted her top, and her pretty breasts disappeared from view. He had always had a healthy appreciation for a well-proportioned female, and Penelo certainly fit the criterion.

She slid her hands over her top, smoothing the fabric, then brushed the lingering dust from her pants.

"Okay," she said, "I'm decent." And she looked up at him. Surprise flared in her eyes, quickly followed by confusion and then anger. "You! You were _looking_! You…you…" She couldn't seem to think of words bad enough to call him.

Balthier arched an eyebrow, surveying her flushed cheeks and clenched fists speculatively. She was trembling with righteous indignation and offended pride.

"I fail to see why you are so up in arms," he said. "You're quite pretty, actually."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected compliment, her mouth dropped open. "You _shouldn't _have been looking," she said finally. "You had no right to–"

"I had every right," he interrupted coolly, pulling himself upright. The blanket pooled into his lap, baring his chest, stomach, and even a good portion of his hips. Penelo made a tiny choked sound in her throat. Balthier paid it no attention. "You _give_ me the right every time you look at me with those worshipful eyes," he said callously. "There is invitation in everything you do, everything you say to me. It's clear you fancy yourself in love with me, Penelo, but I'm not in the market for a steady lover, much less a wife. And even were I to be, I would not choose an orphan girl several years my junior and idealistic to a fault." He knew he was being cruel, but he thought it a sort of a kindness – better he drive her away now, maybe a little wounded but otherwise unscathed than to let her flirtation progress and damage her heart with his desertion.

"I…I…" Penelo blinked back a flood of tears. Her throat ached, her eyes burned, and she desperately wanted to fling something heavy at Balthier's head. "I'm hungry. I think there's some jerky in that box." Abruptly she turned, heading towards the back of the cave. She dropped to her knees beside the box, rooting through it until the urge to wail had passed. She retrieved a couple of pieces of dried meat and tossed some to Balthier. Then she retreated to the opposite side of the fire to sit and eat hers.

Balthier watched her watching the fire. It surprised him that she'd given up the argument so easily – he'd expected some sort of angry retort or impassioned outburst. Perhaps he'd hurt her more than he'd intended. She was folded in on herself, legs tucked beneath her, arms curled close to her chest as she nibbled half-heartedly at the stick of jerky.

She was watching the fire, but not _seeing _it. Wherever she was in her mind was not a happy place – her mouth tilted down at the corners and her eyes were dark and sad. He sighed, torn between letting the matter rest and offering her an explanation. It just didn't seem right to him to hurt her as he had, not when she'd always been so kind to him.

"I didn't say what I did to hurt you," he said slowly. She looked up at him briefly, then averted her eyes and resumed watching the fire.

"I just don't want to–"

"Your clothes are dry," she interrupted softly. "You can get dressed whenever you want."

He gritted his teeth, irritated at her diversionary tactics. "I'm leaving tomorrow," he said abruptly.

Her head jerked up. "What? But you're supposed to teach Vaan–"

"I know," he said. "I thought I could stay, but I can't. Or I won't. It doesn't matter which, really. I'm leaving regardless."

"But you _promised_. Vaan will be so disappointed." Penelo picked at her jerky, trying not to let him see that _she _would be disappointed, too.

"Vaan is the least of my worries," he said. "I'm leaving because of you."

Startled, her eyes widened. "Because of _me_?" And then she remembered his earlier outburst. She must have irritated him, she realized. "I won't bother you. I'll…I'll stay out of your way."

"I'm afraid that won't be good enough." He scowled, as if it pained him to admit to it. "I'm leaving because just a short while ago, when you were so sweetly laying against me, I put my hands between your legs and touched you. I touched you everywhere I could reach, slid my fingers inside you, and felt you shudder and come. I'm leaving because it was all I could do not to take you then." His breath hissed out from between his teeth. "You fascinate and aggravate and perplex me like no woman ever has before. I want you in my bed, but make no mistake – there is no room for you in my life. I like my freedom and I'm in no hurry to give it up."

"Wh-what are you saying?" No one had ever spoken to her in that manner, and that he'd spoken so hungrily of touching her…it was beyond comprehension!

He laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm saying, dearest Penelo, that you can satisfy your curiosity with me. I'll be your lover, if you wish it, but only for tonight. Whatever your choice, tomorrow I will be gone, and I shall endeavor to stay far, far away from you."

Though her cheeks burned, she tried to act nonchalant. "What a charming offer. It's no wonder women fall all over you."

"Be flattered," he advised. "I steer far clear of virgins. And it's the only offer you're getting from me, besides. Better that I should tell you the truth up front than take you to my bed and leave you heartbroken come morning."

"_Heartbroken_?" She echoed. "My, you _do_ have a high opinion of yourself." Tucking her hair behind her ears, she averted her eyes. "As tempting as your offer might be, I think I'll pass this time around. Thanks, anyway." Obviously, he either didn't know or didn't care what it did to her pride to have him _condescend_ to take her to bed.

He eyed her assessingly for a moment. "Suit yourself," he said finally, ripping a chunk off of his stick of jerky. His eyes flicked towards the opening of the cave, where the torrential rain was beginning to show signs of stopping. "We'll likely be back aboard the _Galbana _ere long," he said. "Be a dear and toss me my clothes, would you?"

She flung them at his face and turned away, as he hadn't even bothered to ask if she'd close her eyes before he'd flung back the blanket to change.

Turning back to the fire once he was fully clothed, she began eating her jerky in earnest. They sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the slowing rain.

"Penelo?"

"Hmm?" She began folding up the blankets, packing everything neatly away in the box as she'd found it.

"I'll leave my door unlocked for you. In the event that you change your mind."


	6. Chapter 6

_Please note the rating of this story. This chapter's contents are of a graphic sexual nature. If this bothers you, or if you are not of an age to read explicit material, please hit the back button immediately._

"Who died?"

Ashe's head whipped around. Vaan had just stepped out of the corridor and was stretching his arms over his head.

"Come on. You all look downright depressed. What's going on?" He looked around, peering into the kitchen. "Where's Penelo? I'm hungry."

"It's a long story." Larsa tapped his fingers on the windowpane. "You see, out of concern for Penelo, I confronted Balthier – his interest in her does seem to be somewhat less than familial, after all. I thought it best to make it clear that toying with her would be a mistake on his part, one that, should he choose to tread that path, I would make sure he regretted."

"I'm afraid I didn't help matters much, either," Ashe said morosely. "At any rate, Penelo must have overheard us speaking of her. She…made her displeasure rather plain."

"We knew not that she was possessed of such a temper," Fran marveled.

"Yeah, she can be pretty scary when she's mad." Vaan suppressed a shudder. "So, what happened?"

"She stormed out in a fit of pique. Balthier went after her some time ago, but neither of them have yet returned." Basch shifted uncomfortably.

"She's _what_? You let her go outside _alone_? _Here_?"

Larsa winced. "Balthier has made that speech already," he said, "unless you have something new to add." He sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane. "We cannot even go after them – as Balthier pointed out when he left, the larger the party, the more attractive we shall be to lightning."

"Idiots." Vaan dropped into the navigator's seat on the bridge, bringing up the flight panels.

Ashe gasped, "Have you gone _mad_? You cannot mean to fly in this weather, it would be suicide!"

"No one's going to die," Vaan countered, irritated. "The _Galbana_'_s _generator absorbs electricity. This ship _stores_ electricity gathered during lightening storms like this and _runs _on it." He made a disgusted sound at Ashe's surprised look. "A couple months back, we got caught in Giza during the rains. We couldn't fly in the lightning, and after two days our generator went down. We were stuck there for almost a week with no electricity. We had the _Galbana _modified almost immediately afterwards. It takes no damage from lightning, water, or ice whatsoever. Which you would have _known _had you bothered to wake me when Penelo left_._"

He wasn't quite the smooth navigator Penelo was, and the lift-off was a little bumpy. Basch's chair overturned and he knocked his head against the floor with a muffled curse. Ashe bit back a shriek as a mug of coffee hurtled towards her, soaking her blouse. Fran steered an unsteady Larsa towards a handrail near the window.

"Where are we headed?" Basch asked. "Can you track Penelo, as well? Do you know where she's gone?"

"No," Vaan said shortly. "I can't know for sure. But I think I can guess where she _might've _gone. A little ways north, towards the Sochen Cave Palace, there's a cluster of smaller caves. Penelo can be foolish at times, but she's not stupid – she'll head where there's shelter. If I'm right, she should be there." He steered the ship up over the cliffs, dipping down into the valley between them. "There, see?" He pointed off into the distance, directing Basch to take a look.

"I see nothing." Not even the caves of which Vaan had spoken.

"_Look_." Vaan insisted. "Over there, by the eastern wall. You see those Coeurl carcasses? She's been here. With any luck, she's _still _here."

"What about Balthier?" Basch asked.

"If he was smart, he followed her. If he wasn't…" Vaan sighed, pushing back the steering column until the _Galbana _touched lightly down. "If he wasn't, he's probably dead."

--

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Balthier tossed another stick in the fire.

"It sounded like…like an airship." Penelo shrugged, feeling a little foolish – and wondering if Balthier thought her odd for hearing things.

"I did not hear it. But then, I can't hear much of anything over this rain," he answered.

"I haven't heard any thunder in a while," Penelo offered. "Maybe we could head back to the _Galbana_? We'll probably just get a little wet, and most of the fiends will have taken shelter from the storm, so it should be pretty safe."

"We've only just dried off," Balthier pointed out. "Besides, I wouldn't want to take a chance on the brief break in thunder only to find ourselves caught in the midst of it should we venture out. Give it a little more time."

"Oh." Penelo looped her arms around her knees and rested her chin atop them. "It's just that…we're running out of firewood, aren't we?" She indicated the much smaller fire with a nod.

"No, we have enough to last us a while," he said. "Still, it is better to be cautious when we don't know how long we'll be stuck here, don't you think?" He watched her sidle closer to the fire. "Penelo, are you cold?"

"Oh, just a little, I suppose." She shrugged indifferently, but Balthier had spotted the gooseflesh that had risen on her arms.

"Come sit with me," he said. "We'll keep each other warm."

"Thank you, no," she answered primly. "I think I've had quite enough of that."

His low chuckle sent shivers up her spine. "As you wish, then, Penelo." He stretched out a little, warming his bare feet by the fire. Abruptly, his head jerked towards the opening of the cave. "Hmm," he said, frowning, "It appears you may have been correct. I do think I heard something just now, after all."

It was hard to hear over the rain, but Penelo sat quietly for a moment, and then heard it too – a faint call that sounded remarkably like her name. She glanced over at Balthier, who appeared to have heard it as well.

"I think…I think it might be Vaan." She scrambled to her feet, gathering up her still soggy boots and dashing to the cave entrance. Peering out into the washed out grey of the landscape, she squinted until she saw it – the _Galbana _docked some distance away, on a grassy plain devoid of trees. She couldn't see Vaan, but she knew he had to be there somewhere.

"Vaan!" She shouted. "We're here; we're coming!"

"You go," Balthier ordered. "I'll bank the fire and gather my things. Go make certain they don't continue their search further south, or we may never find our way out of this mess."

"Okay." She stumbled into her shoes, grabbing up her satchel as she hurried out into the pouring rain. Her pants sagged with water, her shoes slipped in the mud – but she trudged towards the _Galbana_, shielding her face from the hard, cold droplets.

A hand caught her shoulder and her steps faltered. Basch pulled her upright, catching her arm to steady her.

"Let's get you back to the ship," he shouted over the rush of water.

"Balthier's still in the cave," she shouted back. "We have to wait for him!"

"Aboard the _Galbana_," he insisted, urging her along.

They ran for the ship, struggling up the hill upon which it was docked. Penelo scrambled up the ramp, shivering with cold.

"Stay here," Basch instructed, already turning away. "Go get yourself dry and warm. I'll round up everyone else." He disappeared back into the storm.

Penelo headed for the washroom. She tugged off and discarded her soaked clothing, filled the large tub, and sank as deeply as she could into the hot water. It felt like the cold had soaked into her bones; even as hot as the water was, it took long minutes to penetrate the icy chill that had her clutched in its grip.

As she rinsed the conditioner from her hair, she felt the subtle shifting of the ship, and knew that they were in flight. It was also a considerably smoother flight than Vaan would have been able to manage, so Penelo assumed that Balthier had been located and was currently flying the _Galbana_. She wondered if they were going to meet up with the _Strahl_.

Penelo stayed in the bath until long after her toes had wrinkled, but eventually she began to feel selfish – there were likely several other people waiting to get their turn in the washroom, and she'd been monopolizing it much longer than was strictly necessary.

Regretting not having first stopping by her chamber for a change of clothes, Penelo selected the largest towel she could find, wrapped it securely around herself, and slipped out of the washroom.

"You certainly took your time."

Suppressing a startled squeak, Penelo whirled to find Balthier leaning against the wall outside the washroom. He was dressed in clean, dry clothes and was wearing his customary smirk.

Defensively, she crossed her arms over her breasts – which he was surveying with obvious approval. "I was cold and dirty."

"If you're done, might I request that you see what can be done about lunch? We're all rather hungry, and you seem to be the only one of us who knows her way around a kitchen." He shouldered off the wall, examining his pristine fingernails.

"_Lunch_?" She echoed incredulously.

"Indeed. It's going on half past one. All I've had since breakfast is a bit of jerky that tasted suspiciously like old shoe leather." He reached out, cupping her shoulder with one warm hand, flashing her a disarming smile. "I would settle for a sandwich."

"I-I have to get dressed first." She edged away from him, gripping the towel tightly.

"Of course." He graciously removed his hand from her shoulder. "We'll be waiting."

She scurried away, heading to her room with all due haste. Balthier watched until she'd disappeared into her bedroom.

Vaan rounded the corner, frowning at Balthier. "She's off-limits," he said.

"I beg your pardon?" Balthier arched an eyebrow.

"You heard me. I'm not an idiot. I've seen the way you look at her," Vaan said. "You hate to see her leave, but you _love _to watch her go."

Balthier stared at him blankly. "I'm afraid your colloquialism escapes me."

"You were staring at her ass," Vaan clarified.

"I was not," Balthier denied immediately. "Unfortunately, towels are not designed to flatter the figure. I would be hard pressed to be able to ogle her through it. Pity, that."

Vaan scowled. "Look, Penelo is my cook, my navigator, and also my best friend. I look out for her just like she looks out for me. Larsa told you before, and I'm telling you now. She's _off-limits_. Understand?"

"Of course," Balthier smiled obligingly. "I won't seduce your charming shipmate," he said. "But, if _she_ should come to _me_…well, that's a different story entirely, isn't it?" He clapped Vaan on the shoulder, ignoring the glare the younger man was giving him. "Far be it from me to deny a lady."

--

Lunch passed without incident. Balthier did not mention his indecent proposition again. Penelo discovered she was rather tired, despite the fact that it really was the middle of the day. After she nearly nodded off right into her cluckatrice soup, Ashe volunteered to do the cleaning and sent her to bed for a nap. Penelo figured that, with any luck, she'd sleep through the night and in the morning, Balthier would be gone – problem solved.

But it turned out not to be the case. She woke sometime after ten. The ship was quiet. She wondered if the rest of the party had had any dinner without her awake to cook for them. Briefly she attempted going back to sleep, but with several hours of sleep under her belt, there was no way sleep would be easy in coming. Which made her wonder – was Balthier asleep? Was he awake? Was he waiting for her?

She didn't want to go. Or did she? After all, he'd be gone in the morning – who knew if she would ever see him again? Did she want to sleep with a man she knew wanted nothing to do with her outside of bed? Then again, wouldn't she regret letting the opportunity pass her by?

She slipped out of bed, threw a nightgown over her head, then quietly crept out the door and down the hall. She paused in front of Balthier's door, poised to knock, but without the will to do so. What if he'd changed his mind? What if it had been a joke? What if he wasn't even _in _there? He might've bunked down on the floor aboard the _Strahl_, for all she knew.

"Come in, Penelo."

The soft words floated through the door, and she jumped back in surprise. _Caught_! But how had he _known_?

Well, she couldn't turn tail and run now that she'd been found out. Guiltily, she opened the door and slipped through. He was sitting in bed, bare-chested, an open book held in one hand. She tried not to look anywhere but his face.

"Um…" She linked her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels. "How did you know I was there?" She asked, biting her lower lip.

"I heard you sighing. Vaan is the only other person aboard the _Galbana _right now, but I very much doubt he has much reason to be standing outside my door sighing." He set the book aside. "Now it's my turn to ask the questions. Why didn't you knock?"

"I hadn't decided whether or not I was actually going to come yet, that's all." She tilted her chin stubbornly.

"And now? Have you decided?" He watched her intently – Penelo got the distinct impression he was seeing far more than she wanted him to.

"I-I'm here, aren't I?" She _would not _blush – now was _certainly _not the time for any sort of maidenly modesty.

He scrutinized her for a moment longer, then patted covers beside him. "Come, then," he said. She moved closer, standing near the edge of the bed. He rolled his eyes. "_Onto _the bed, Penelo, not _beside_ it."

"Excuse me for never having done this before," she snapped, scrambling hastily onto the mattress. She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him as she tucked her legs beneath her.

Rather than seeming annoyed, he looked rather amused by her show of temper. "But you _do _know the mechanics of it?"

"I'm not stupid," she shot back. "I'm just not as promiscuous as you are."

"I prefer the term 'practiced', if you please," he replied blithely, not at all insulted. "And, contrary to what seems to be a popularly held belief, I'm rather discerning about my choice of partners."

"I didn't ask," she said through clenched teeth, "because I don't want to know."

He reached out, caught her arm, and dragged her across the space that separated them. She made a small sound of surprise as he turned her, settling her in the crook of his arm, back against the pillows.

"My darling, prickly little liar," he said kindly, feathering his fingers over the soft, pink lips that were pursed into a disapproving frown. "You're curious, but you fear that you will not like the answers you receive. Or maybe you fear that I don't care enough to give you the answers."

"Does it matter?" She shoved his fingers away, causing the neck of her nightgown to slip off of one shoulder. "I'd be an idiot to try to discuss anything seriously with you. You're always laughing at me."

"At your charming displays of temper and jealousy, surely. Your delightful naïveté, perhaps. At _you_, never." His fingers caressed her shoulder, traced her collarbone. "I am relieved to find that you do own nightclothes," he said.

She batted at his hand. "Just because I don't wear them doesn't mean I don't own them."

"Am I not allowed to touch you? I'll warn you now, that could make this a rather difficult task."

"Oh. Sorry. I-I forgot." The blush she'd tried so hard to resist came out in full force.

"In my bed, in my arms, and she _forgets_," he sighed. "I must be losing my touch." He reached for the buttons on the front of her gown, but her fingers tangled in his.

"No. Please."

He drew back, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Penelo, are you frightened?"

"No!" She denied at once. "I'm just a little nervous, that's all. I think you'll be…disappointed."

"With you? Why?" He brushed her hair away from her face tenderly, watching with keen interest as she worried her lower lip.

She met his eyes, unflinching. "I'm not beautiful. I'm skinny and unsophisticated and I don't know what to do. I don't want to be a disappointment, but I can't help what I am."

"You _are_ quite lovely, actually," he said. "But there are many beautiful women in Ivalice, Penelo. One does not require classic beauty to be attractive, and you have something much more rare than simple physical beauty. As for sophistication, well, let us say that you are a refreshing change from it – I would not wish for it in you. Cynicism closely follows sophistication, and I think your complete lack of it is part of your appeal." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "There are some that would say that an ideal bed partner is one uninfluenced by previous encounters."

"But not you," she said. "You would rather have an experienced partner."

"Yes," he answered honestly. "However, at this moment, that has more to do with sparing you the pain of your first encounter than anything else." He slid one hand behind her head, his fingers gently sifting through her unbound hair, and bent to kiss her. "You do not disappoint me," he murmured against her lips.

Her eyes fluttered closed. "Okay," she murmured, and her fingers fell away from her buttons. Carefully he slipped the buttons through their loops, distracting her with soft, delicate kisses as he parted the soft linen. He freed her arms from the fabric, touching his lips to her temple, and the soft, sunny hair there. He eased the cloth away from her, tossing it aside even as he nipped her earlobe. Eyes still closed, she moved restlessly against him, seemingly unaware that she'd been divested of her nightgown. Balthier could have taken that moment to look on that which he'd so skillfully revealed, but, knowing just how uneasy Penelo had been made it seem distasteful, somehow, to take advantage of her ignorance. So he slid his arms under her knees, lifted the covers out from under her, and gently slipped her beneath them.

Penelo's eyes opened as she felt him draw the cool sheet over her breasts. She blinked up at him, startled.

"Is your modesty appeased?" He propped himself up on one elbow, and stroked his thumb along her bare arm.

She nodded, grateful that he'd decided to indulge her. "Thank you," she said. "It's just that no one's seen me that way since I was a baby. It's embarrassing."

He resisted the urge to point out he'd already seen most of what she had to offer when they'd been stuck in the cave. "I'll look my fill at some point," he warned, "but I can be gentleman enough to wait until you've surrendered a few more of your reservations." He shifted a little under the covers, opening his arms. "Come, Penelo. I can't make love to you if you keep a buffer zone between us like this."

Obligingly, Penelo sidled closer until he caught her in his arms, drawing her up against the heat of his body. He pressed her cheek against his shoulder, molding her against him so that every soft curve of her body fit every hard line of his. She sucked in a breath when she felt the hard length of him against her belly, but then he wrapped his arms around her and she was overwhelmed – surrounded by his heat, his strength, the intoxicating scent of him. It was all she could do to link her arms around his neck and bury her face in his throat.

He nuzzled her ear and slid one hand caressingly down her arm, over her hip, then up to cup her breast, learning the smooth feel of his skin. His warm breath stirred the hair at her temple.

"You are…so soft," he murmured huskily. "You feel like silk beneath my hands." His thumb teased her nipple into a hard point, and she made a small, embarrassed sound against his throat. He chuckled, easing his knee between her legs to let her grow accustomed to the feel of him there, then he gently eased her onto her back. She folded her arms over her bared breasts defensively. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then laid a small trail of soft kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, to the upper swells of her breasts. Fixated on the sensation of his lips on her, she didn't protest when he gently lifted her arms away from her body.

Her breasts were small, but perfectly formed. He brushed his fingers over the crest of one reverently. "Penelo," he breathed, "you are _beautiful_." He captured one tiny peak in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the delicate bud. She drew in a shaky breath, moving impatiently against him. Her trembling fingers dived into his hair, holding him to her body as she made soft, satisfied noises in her throat.

He enjoyed the feeling of her soft body twisting against his as she was caught in the throes of passion. The unconsciously seductive movements she made fed his desire – he could not ever remember being so violently aroused, and only from such light love play. That Penelo had managed to evoke such a fierce need in him surprised and alarmed him.

He touched her, slipping his fingers within her to test her readiness. She whimpered, a small sound of surprise at the invasion, but inside she was hot and wet, her body attempting to hold his fingers within her. Suddenly, he _needed_ to be inside her – he needed the comfort of her body like he needed to draw his next breath.

He parted her soft thighs, sliding further between them, poised at the entrance to her body. Her eyes opened – she knew there would be no turning back from this point. He kissed her swollen lips tenderly.

"If it hurts, I'm sorry," he said.

She braced herself for whatever pain there might be, linking her arms around his neck and squeezing her eyes shut. He eased inside her slowly, carefully – but he was too large for Penelo's untried body to easily accommodate. By the time he reached the barrier of her virginity, he was sweating and she was whimpering in pain.

"I-I don't think we…fit." Her teeth were clenched in pain, eyelashes spiky with barely-contained tears.

He smoothed her damp bangs away from her face soothingly, bracing himself on his forearms above her and steeling himself to wait out her discomfort. "You can take me. Trust me." He brushed a soft kiss at her temple, murmuring comforting nonsense in her ear until the tension began to drain from her body.

He was nearly panting with the effort to hold back. He had yet to bury himself fully within her – but she was in pain. He'd be an animal to make demands of her now.

Then, unexpectedly, she shifted beneath him. The movement forced him to complete his downward plunge, breaking the fragile barrier. He suddenly found himself buried so deeply within her that he could feel the frantic beating of her heart. The blood rushed from his head to other, more involved parts of his anatomy. A tiny wail – a mixture of discomfort and confusion – broke from her throat.

"I don't think…I don't know if I want to do this anymore, Balthier." Her eyes were squeezed shut, her inner muscles clenched tightly around him, trying to force him out of her body. But he was firmly planted, and going nowhere.

He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, even as he touched it to hers and closed his eyes. He took a few moments to collect himself, but his voice was still tinged with hoarseness when he spoke.

"You knew it might be difficult, but I promise it will get better. On my honor as a gentleman."

A strained laugh. "You don't have any honor, Balthier. You're a _pirate_."

His eyes opened. "I have a good deal of honor." Just none where she was concerned, it seemed, or he would never have invited her into his bed. "It's just a bit tarnished, so to speak." He cupped the back of her head in one hand and bent down to brush her lips with his. At his gentle urging, her lips parted beneath his, and he slid his tongue into the sweet recesses of her mouth, coaxing her back into the passion of a few minutes prior. His free hand slipped over the smooth slope of her belly, across her hip and down to where their bodies were joined.

She jerked when he touched her. Her eyes opened wide, surprised, as if she couldn't believe what he was doing to her. Her small, white teeth tugged her lower lip pensively.

"You needn't look so shocked," he said. "This isn't the first time I've touched you like this."

"Yes, but..." She bit back a gasp when his fingers stroked along a particularly sensitive area. "Well…_oh_…it's just that I've, uh, never done this before."

"I figured that part out first hand, thank you," he said dryly. Her voice had taken on a decidedly breathy quality. He liked it immensely. "Let loose your charming inhibitions, darling," he murmured in her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. She shuddered, making a small, approving sound in the back of her throat. Her thighs trembled around his waist, her feet rubbed restlessly against his calves.

"_Oh…_Balthier, that feels…so…so…" Her eyes were closed, drinking in every last sensation that she could as he fed her pleasure in little bites. Her arms looped around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair caressingly. Her hips arched against his, unconsciously drawing him deeper. She was too close to release to feel any pain, if, indeed, any remained.

Cautiously, he pulled back a few inches and slowly, carefully slid back inside her. She made a low sound of pleasure and her legs tightened around his waist. He couldn't wait any longer. He kept his thrusts slow and measured, and she quickly matched his rhythm, moving in delicious tandem. He could feel the pressure building, knew he likely had only a few minutes to be sure that she found her pleasure first.

Grasping her hips in his hands, he held her motionless to receive his thrusts, piling sensation atop sensation until she was a mass of over-sensitized nerves quivering with the need for release. All it took was a few delicate touches, and she fell apart in his arms, crying her pleasure. Her sweet body clenched around him, grasping him with all its might, forcing his own release. He gasped helplessly, fists clutching great handfuls of covers as her silky inner muscles milked him of his stamina.

It took him a long time to come back to himself. He felt her small, delicate hands stroking his back, caressing his sweat-slickened skin. He had to be heavy, and all his weight was on her, but she just touched her warm lips to his cheek and murmured, "I love you, Balthier."

It was far from the first time he'd heard the words – but it _was _the first time he believed them. They changed nothing. Love was not enough. She did not belong in his life. But he was certain that forever afterwards he would carry those sweetly-spoken words around in his heart; a bittersweet memory of the one woman who had made him wish he were different.

With a soft sigh, Penelo turned her cheek against the pillow, closed her eyes, and fell into a blissful and exhausted slumber. She was lovely in sleep, her elfin face relaxed and her cheeks flushed. He cradled her in his arms, turning so she lay with her head tucked against his shoulder. Her hair fell over his arm, cool and silky, and her warm breath feathered out against his throat. Unconsciously, she slid her arms around him, murmuring something unintelligible.

Balthier wished he could join her in sleep. He wished he could find peace with the situation in which he'd placed himself and catch a few short hours of sleep with Penelo by his side for the first and last time before dawn's coming would separate them. But suddenly these last few hours seemed precious, and he didn't want to waste them sleeping. Instead, he watched over her – content, at least, to spend the time memorizing everything about the one woman who had been fool enough to truly love him.

--

Penelo awoke the next morning in her own bed, with the faint memory of having been carried there in the early pre-dawn hours. The covers were still tucked neatly around her, and no indention marked the pillow beside her, proving Balthier had not joined her there. Likely he'd merely removed her from his own chamber so he could pack his things and be on his way.

With a sigh, she turned on her side, curling up into a little ball. She'd known he'd intended to leave. It was foolish to think that maybe she might've changed his mind. Still, until now, she'd still had the tiniest shred of hope. She reached out blindly for the mug of water she typically kept on her nightstand, but came up with a handful of fabric instead.

It was his handkerchief. The one he'd so craftily stolen back from her. He'd folded it neatly and placed it on her nightstand – a final reminder that their game was done, their time was over. After all, he'd willingly surrendered the handkerchief this time. He would not be back to retrieve it.

Somehow, that hurt the most.

--

"What's for breakfast?" Vaan dropped into a chair at the table, eyeing Penelo speculatively.

"Pancakes, eggs, and bacon. I can make some toast, too, if you'd like it." She didn't look back at him, fearing that he might sense some change in her. The last thing she wanted was Vaan thinking she'd driven off Balthier, even if it _was _the truth.

"Great, I'm starved." Vaan jumped up and headed into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice.

"You're _always _starved," Penelo admonished. She scraped the eggs out of the skillet, dumping them onto Vaan's already heaping plate. He got a couple of utensils from a drawer and took the plate back to the table.

"So. Balthier left early this morning, huh."

Warily, Penelo brought her plate to the table. "That's right."

"Strange that he didn't stick around until morning. I wouldn't have passed up your cooking for anything." Vaan passed her a napkin.

Penelo murmured something non-committal, digging into her breakfast in the hopes that it would shut Vaan up and he'd forget about his current topic of conversation.

"You know, I heard some pretty interesting sounds last night, too. Seemed to be coming from Balthier's room. And you weren't in yours."

Penelo choked. She clapped her hand over her mouth, then grabbed hastily for her orange juice, throwing it back quickly, looking at Vaan with dawning horror.

"Oh, Pen, you _didn't_. With _him_?" Vaan shook his head in disapproval. "_Why_?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Appetite thoroughly gone, Penelo scraped the contents of her plate into the garbage.

Vaan sighed. "He's not coming back, is he?"

Penelo turned her back on Vaan and slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling the soft linen of the handkerchief. She willed away the tears that pressed behind her eyes. "No," she said. "He's gone. Again. For good, this time."


	7. Chapter 7

_Part Two_

_Nalbina Fortress, five years later_

It wasn't the first time Balthier had found himself in a dungeon. Nor, he suspected, was it likely to be the last. However, it _was_ the first time that he had no idea how he would get himself out. What he needed was a partner – and as he and Fran had amicably parted ways over a year ago (though she did, from time to time, join him on a particularly interesting job), he doubted she even knew he'd been captured. So he was out a partner, bereft of weapons, stripped of armor, and deprived of all manner of possible distractions. There was not so much as a knot of rust to be found in the whole damned dungeon.

By his count, he'd been stuck in the dungeon for nearly five days. A new record; as he'd usually managed to escape in a matter of hours. He was tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a change of clothes. Unless he was suddenly struck with a blinding flash of brilliance, he was quite afraid that he might actually have to pay his debt to society before his release.

"Aren't you getting too old for this sort of thing?"

He jerked around – there was no one but some poor soul sitting in the corner, wearing a tattered old cloak that made his dirty, all but ruined garments look positively pristine.

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose – if he was hearing things, it was almost certainly a bad sign.

"_Balthier_." This time the whisper was slightly more insistent.

He turned again. The figure in the corner shifted and a hank of platinum blonde hair slipped from beneath the hood, bound in a long braid. The woman in question eased the hood of the cloak back just a little, baring a sliver of her face to the moonlight. Blue-grey eyes looked up at him, soft pink lips were tilted in a cheeky grin.

It was worse than simply hearing voices – he'd gone straight into full-blown _fantasies_.

"Give me a hand, would you?" She thrust her hand out at him, which he obediently took, helping her to her feet. Her hood fell back completely, baring her bright blonde head. Wispy tendrils of hair had escaped her braid, curling delicately around her pale throat. A dark blue corset top hugged her full breasts, while a pair of loosely-cut pants rode low on her hips.

Maybe she wasn't a fantasy after all. If she were a fantasy, she would be wearing quite a bit less.

"Penelo?" He couldn't be sure – it had been so long since he'd seen her, and she'd barely been out of girlhood.

"The one and only." She slipped a thin dagger out of a sheath concealed within her corset, tossing it to him. He caught it deftly, worlds more comfortable armed than not. Though guns were his weapon of choice, he was more than proficient with a blade.

"What are you _doing _here?" He tucked the dagger into his belt, watching as she shook a couple of things out of a pocket hidden in the folds of her loose pants.

She glanced up at him incredulously. "I'm breaking you out of jail. Did you think I was here because I enjoyed the atmosphere?" She slipped a hand behind her, retrieving a gun that had been strapped to the small of her back.

He held his hand out for it expectantly.

"The gun is mine," she said, "I've got another dagger for you. Don't ask where I've hidden it." She produced it with a flourish, presenting it to him. He took it grudgingly.

"I work better with guns," he said.

"So do I," she replied, "and, as I'm not the one who requires rescuing, I think _I'll_ be holding onto it."

"Fair enough." Not that he had to be _happy _about it. "I still don't understand…why _you_?"

She tossed him a couple of accessories to put on, likely magic-resistant. "Who else would come for you? Larsa told me a few days ago that you'd been tossed here. Obviously, he and Ashe can't be seen to be aiding and abetting known pirates. Basch's hands are tied for the same reason. Vaan doesn't like you very much, and Fran couldn't be located." She clipped on a couple of accessories herself. "That left me."

"You certainly took you sweet time in arriving," he remarked snidely.

"Beggars can't be choosers," she countered promptly. "I had obligations of my own to attend to. Besides, who knows? It might've been a character-building experience for you." She pulled her hood back down over her face, likely a precautionary measure in the event she might be recognized by a guard. Her soft leather boots made almost no sound on the dirt floor as she turned her back on him, heading over to a heavy wooden door.

"So, what's your grand plan, then?" He asked skeptically.

"Cover your ears," she instructed.

"What?"

"Cover your ears!" She drew back the hammer, pulled the trigger, and shot the large, iron lock right off of the door. The blast reverberated around the large chamber, attracting the attention of every occupant and likely several guards waiting outside the main gate.

"Oh, very subtle," he chided.

"Subtlety is not my forte," she remarked, shoving open the heavy door. They darted through it, several yards ahead of all the other fleeing prisoners who were more than eager to make their escape. Rather than continue down the long hallway towards freedom, Penelo ducked into a chamber filled with confiscated weapons and armor.

"Suit up," she said. "We'll use the rest of the prisoners as a distraction, let the guards round them up, and then sneak away in a bit. With luck, in all the commotion, they'll either never notice we're missing or think we've made a clean get away. No one will expect us to be hanging about, so they won't be looking for us here."

She busied herself in sorting through the piles and piles of varying armors, but had little luck finding anything to fit her slight frame. Balthier joined her in the search, secretly hoping his investigation would yield him his preferred weapon.

A heavy clanking sound came from the hallway, and Penelo froze, grimacing.

"Well," she whispered, "it looks like we might have to go for plan number two instead, as it seems we're about to be discovered."

"What's plan two?" He whispered back furiously.

"Stand there and look guilty," she said, ducking behind a large urn in the corner. "It shouldn't be too difficult; you're guilty as hell."

Balthier resisted the urge to snap back – not fifteen minutes had they been reunited and he already felt like throttling the girl. Er, woman. _Penelo_.

In preparation, Balthier gripped his daggers, assuming a fighting stance. The clanking sound grew louder, and moments later a guard burst through the entryway.

"Drop your weapons!" He shouted, hefting his spear when he saw Balthier standing in the middle of the room. "Hands in the air, and don't move."

Penelo crept from behind the urn, moving slowly and silently. She lifted a large, heavy metal cuirass above her head.

"No one escapes Nalbina Fortress," the guard continued. "Not on _my_ watch."

"Famous last words," Balthier said as Penelo brought the cuirass smashing down upon the guard's helmet, felling the man easily. He hit the floor with a deafening crash. Abandoning her weapon, Penelo dropped to her knees and began tugging off the unconscious guard's helmet.

"Help me with his armor, would you?" She rolled the man onto his side, working the buckles of his cuirass.

"What are we doing?" Balthier asked as he removed the man's footwear.

Penelo rolled her eyes. "There's nothing here to fit me, so _you're _going to put on his armor, and _I'm _going to pretend to be your prisoner. That way, we can go about as we please – provided this one here doesn't wake up anytime soon."

"That is the most ridiculous suggestion I've ever heard. They'll never fall for it." But he strapped on the armor anyway.

"You got any better ideas?" Penelo reached for a set of manacles hanging on the wall. "Put these on me."

She'd gotten more than a little bossy since their last meeting. Or rather, she was much less timid, and much more confident. The only problem was, Balthier was just a little afraid that he actually _liked _the changes he'd found in her.

She jangled the chains. "Hurry it up. We've got to get moving - and the guards don't escort the prisoners about the halls without binding them. We'll be suspicious if I'm not wearing them."

Still he hesitated. "I don't have a key. You'll be walking around unarmed and bound."

She rolled her eyes. "I assure you, I've gotten much better at picking locks. And just for the record, these manacles are actually rather easy to slip." She offered them to him once again. "Come on, Balthier. Where's your sense of adventure?"

He took the manacles, and she held out her wrists while he fastened them on. Then he slipped on the helmet and tucked her gun into the holster at his waist. He set a hand on her shoulders and together they slipped from the room.

"Make it look good," she whispered. "Be a little rough if you need to. I'm not all that fragile."

They rounded a corner, coming across a group of three patrolmen who were carrying on a conversation in the hallway. Immediately all conversation stopped as the guards looked towards them expectantly.

"Keep moving!" Balthier barked, shoving Penelo forward. She stumbled a few feet, then assumed a dejected demeanor as she shuffled along, eyes downcast. The patrolmen parted, allowing Balthier and Penelo to pass without incident, then resumed talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

They passed a few more clusters of guards with similar results, growing steadily more confident in their certain escape as they neared the entrance to the prison. Freedom was so close that Balthier could practically taste it. He would have a clean set of clothes at last!

"Hey! You!" A guard jogged up from behind them. Balthier grabbed Penelo by back of her cloak jerking her around as he affected an irritated expression.

"Make it quick, I'm in a hurry," he said. "This one's getting released."

"You ain't seen a couple of escapees round here, have you? We're missing two down in the dungeon. One's awaitin' trial, and the other…well, we're not quite sure about the other yet, but there's two still missing." The man scrutinized Balthier carefully. "What're you doing round these parts, anyway? Releases go topside, you oughta know that."

"I'm a new recruit," Balthier replied. "Haven't seen anyone this way, sorry." He turned, escorting Penelo away.

"Hold it just a minute." Suspiciously, the guard circled Penelo and Balthier. "You got a supervisin' officer? Ain't never seen you here before. Where're her release papers?"

Penelo lunged, relieving the guard of his pistol and took aim. Shocked to find his own weapon pointed at the center of his forehead, the guard's mouth dropped open.

"I don't think we'll be needing those release papers, do you?" She pulled back the hammer. It snapped into place with a satisfying _click_, and the guard's throat worked furiously. Sweat beaded on his brow.

"N-no, ma'am," he said. "No p-papers necessary. Go right on ahead."

"As I thought." Her arms were beginning to ache with the weight of the gun and the heavy iron manacles. "You're going to have to cast the magic," she said to Balthier. "I can't do it myself with my hands in these. We obviously can't take a hostage, so put him to sleep or he'll fetch more guards, and that's the very last thing we need right now."

It was a simple spell, but Balthier fumbled through it. He hadn't required the use of magic in some time and he'd never been as proficient in magic as he'd been in weaponry. The guard slumped against the wall, hitting the floor in a clatter of metal, mercifully unconscious.

Penelo arched an eyebrow. "I swear, I'm shocked you haven't gotten yourself caught before now," she chided. "How did you get so _bad _at this?"

Irked, Balthier urged her forward, further along the hallway. "I think the question rather should be, how did _you _get so _good_? You're a remarkably good criminal for an aspiring chef."

"Not aspiring any longer," she said. "I've achieved my dream already. I own a restaurant in Rabanastre. The whole business isn't quite what I thought it would be." She shrugged her shoulders. "Some things came up, so I stuck with the pirating a little longer than I'd originally planned. I got pretty good at it. But then, you have to improve or you'll get caught or maybe even get yourself killed. There's no option _but _to get good." She peeked around a corner, relieved to find it clear of guards. "The exit should be close. Let's just hope we don't run into any more guards."

Luck was on Balthier's side (for once), and they made it to the large gate with no further guards to block their path. Penelo took a moment to slip her wrists from the manacles, then went to work on the old iron lock on the gate. She had not his professional tools, and yet it took her just a couple of seconds to trip the catch with nothing more than a hairpin, which she then shoved behind her ear.

"Quick," she said, "I think the gate is trapped. Who knows what it'll do? We've got to hurry and get out of here!" She wrenched the gate open, flinging herself through it and out onto the darkened street. Balthier felt his legs grow heavy, sticking to the ground like glue. He turned towards Penelo, who shook her head. Her lips moved soundlessly – she'd been silenced and couldn't help him with the spell. An alarm blared loudly, signaling that a trapped door had been opened.

He wracked his brain for the counter-charm, thankful he was still wearing the armor they'd stolen from the guard. At least it would confuse the guards for a few moments, which might give him the time he needed to complete the charm.

"You go," he said. "They don't know what you look like; you can make your get away."

Eyes wide and fearful, she shook her head. She would not abandon him.

"_Go_," he urged. "Don't stay here out of some misplaced loyalty to me. _I_ would've left _you_."

Her eyes told him she did not believe him and he marveled at her faith in him – what had he done to be on the receiving end of such blind trust?

She dug frantically through her pockets, searching for something – anything – that might help. Finally, just as a clatter of heavy armor arose from the main gate, Penelo found it. A tiny, silvery bottle of Remedy. She tossed it to him, and he pulled the stopper, tipping it back just as a group of soldiers thundered into the lane.

"There! Stop them!"

Balthier's feet came free. He ran towards Penelo – a well-nigh impossible task in armor – grabbing her hand and dragging her along the lane. Reaching for the buckles securing his armor, he yanked off the heavy cuirass, tossing it aside. The gauntlets were harder, but all the metal was slowing him up and the guards, accustomed to the weight of the armor, were gaining on them.

In a last, desperate attempt to escape, he tossed his helmet into the street, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that would conceal them for a few moments. He jerked Penelo into an alleyway, stripping her of her cloak and yanked her into his arms, slamming his mouth over hers. He could taste her surprise at the unexpected assault, but a moment later her arms stole around his neck and her slender body melted against his. His hands drifted down to cup her rear, bringing her fully against him.

"Where'd they go?"

The confused question posed by a guard convinced him his ruse had worked; none of the guards were interested in a couple involved in an intimate embrace – they'd successfully escaped capture.

"Keep looking!" Another voiced ordered. "They'll head for the Aerodrome next! Check the outbound flights!"

He wasn't sure if he waited to end the kiss because he wanted to be sure all of the guards had left or if she just felt so good in his arms that he couldn't bear to make himself let go. He drew away slowly, watching her face change from the soft, sweet expression of passion to the wary, guarded expression of a woman who knew she'd been used as a means to an end. He'd kissed her because the situation had called for it, and he'd learned a few things in those few moments that she probably hadn't wanted him to.

"Amazing," he murmured, "that we've been parted for five years, and you still react to me with such ardor." He tucked a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear, holding her against him firmly with one arm around her waist. "Are you still in love with me, Penelo?"

Her eyes narrowed, lit with anger. She shook her head slowly, deliberately.

"You haven't stopped wanting me. I can't imagine you've stopped loving me, as well. For you, I think the two go hand in hand. Or do they?"

He murmured the counter charm for silence, then cupped her chin in his hand, angling it upwards. "I was your first lover, Penelo. Was I also your last?"

"_No_," she gasped. "There've been dozens. Scores. _Hundreds_." She flinched as his lips touched her cheek softly.

"I think you're lying," he murmured. "You still taste of innocence." He nuzzled her throat, hearing the catch in her breath. "I think I would know if you'd had other lovers, Penelo. Somehow, I think I would know."

"Don't be so cocky," she snapped, shoving away from him. "Just because I don't want to see you swinging at the end of a hangman's noose doesn't mean I have any lingering love for you. I'm not that same foolish young girl anymore, Balthier. I've changed, I've grown up. I'm too old for hero worship – not that you were ever much of a hero anyway." She turned away, collecting her cloak.

"I liked you better silenced," he remarked. "You lie to salvage your pride and imagine that your harsh words will make me forget the way you melted in my arms mere moments ago. I am not so easily distracted, Penelo, nor am I as simple and easily led as Vaan. If you go on believing all men alike, I fear you will be in for a rather rude awakening." He removed her cloak from her hands, slipping it over her shoulders and knotting the hood for her.

Patting her shoulder, he smiled. "Let's be off, shall we? We should travel by chocobo. As our pursuers are headed towards the Aerodrome, it might be best to avoid that area entirely." He turned, heading towards the street.

"I liked you better in the dungeon," she groused. "I should've just left you there."

"Bitterness does not become you, sweetheart." The endearments came naturally around her – there was just something about Penelo that made her want to use them, want to pamper and protect her. It had always been that way, and likely always would. He would always regard her with some sort of affection, and that made her dangerous to the both of them.

They rented a couple of chocobos from the moogle manning the booth, then set off towards Rabanastre. Balthier wasn't in too great a hurry to arrive, knowing that when they did, Penelo would go her way and he would go his, and who knew when next they would meet?

Penelo broke the silence first. "You'd been there for five days, huh?"

"Yes." He didn't see any need to go into further detail.

"You smell like it." She wrinkled her nose.

"You weren't complaining earlier, when you were _kissing _me," he observed irritably.

"_You _kissed _me_," she corrected, "and that's because I was too nervous to worry about smelling you, and your breath wasn't bad. How'd you manage that, by the way? I'd think after five days, you'd be downright rank."

"Your faith in my personal hygiene is remarkable," he sniffed indignantly. "If you must know, I found some wild mint to chew, growing near a window. A poor substitute for a real toothbrush, I fear, but I work with what I am given."

"Oh." She lapsed into silence once again.

"Tell me about your restaurant. What is it like?" He hated sticking to such impersonal questions – there were a dozen other things he wanted to know, things he couldn't ask. Had she missed him? Had she found him an acceptable lover? Would she welcome him into her bed again? Not that he should entertain such thoughts.

"It's busy." She shrugged. "I don't enjoy it as much as I thought I would, so I hired a manager and a couple of cooks to run it for me. I love to cook, but running the restaurant was killing my enjoyment of it. I'd much rather just cook for…for friends. You know, without it being an obligation."

He was certain she had been about to say something else, but he had no idea what.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "You don't have to escort me back to Rabanastre. I'm perfectly capable of finding my way myself. I know these parts pretty well."

"I'm not escorting you back, exactly," he said. "The _Strahl_ is docked in Arcades. The quickest way back is via Aerodrome, and, as Nalbina's Aerodrome is currently not an option, the closest Aerodrome is in Rabanastre." He shifted – the chocobo he was riding was prancing restlessly. "So, you see…it would be more accurate to say that we are traveling in the same direction."

"Your chocobo looks ready to bolt. Maybe we'd better walk the rest of the way." She dismounted, releasing her chocobo. Balthier joined her, and their chocobos ran off back towards Nalbina Fortress, kicking up a trail of dust and sand in their wake.

"Well," he said. "We'd better start walking. The fiends can get nasty at night in these parts, and we're not well enough armed for my tastes."

"It'll be all right. It's not far to the Outpost – we can rest there for the night," Penelo replied.

A strong wind blew sand into the air in whirling columns. Balthier shielded his eyes and Penelo drew the hood of her cloak over her face. A thunderous roar filled the air, and a large airship shot into view, the air currents swirling sand everywhere. The ship touched down a hundred yards away, and a ramp extended slowly towards the ground. A small troupe of soldiers emerged, headed towards them.

Balthier swore succinctly. "How did they find us so quickly? I was certain we'd lost them!"

The guard at the front of the troupe unfurled a scroll of parchment. "By order of his majesty Emperor Larsa and her majesty Queen Ashelia, I do hereby place you under arrest," he read off. The four remaining guards started forward.

"All right, all right," Balthier sighed. "No need to get rough, I'll come along quietly."

"Not you." The guard hardly spared Balthier a glance. "_Her_."

"_Me_?" Penelo cried.

"_What_?" Balthier shouted.

The man lifted off his helmet, sighing. "I'm just doing my job, Miss Penelo. Please come with me."

Penelo's hands curled into fists, closing her eyes. "Larsa," she muttered, "when I see you, you'd better have a damn good explanation for this…"

"You _can't_ be considering going with them," Balthier said incredulously. "He's having you _arrested_, and you're just going to go along quietly?"

"What other choice to I have?" She stripped off her accessories and thrust her gun back at Balthier. "Take these. They should help you get back to the Outpost, at least." She turned, stomping angrily towards the cluster of guards.

"You're _not _taking her." Balthier drew the gun and grabbed Penelo by the arm. Immediately, the guards drew their own weapons.

"Balthier, cut it out. Larsa's not going to hurt me, you know that." She gently shook her arm out of his grip. "Tell you what, you can hold onto this for me. Just until I get back to Rabanastre." She tucked something into his palm, then headed back towards the airship.

"Well, shall we go, then?" She allowed them to escort her safely aboard the ship, and a few moments later, the lift-off shook the ground as the ship hurtled into the air towards Arcades.

And Balthier was left in the middle of Dalmasca's Estersand, clutching a familiar white handkerchief in his hand.


	8. Chapter 8

The door of Larsa's private study opened and an immaculately groomed servant entered, bowing deeply. "Miss Penelo has returned and is requesting an immediate audience with you, my lord."

Somehow, Larsa imagined she was doing a fair bit more than simply _requesting _an audience, however he could not fault the servant's diplomatic euphemism.

"Good," he said. "Send her in at once, then."

Not five seconds after he'd given the servant leave to admit Penelo, he heard her voice echoing down the hallway.

"Larsa, what in the world are you playing at here?" She burst through the door, obviously in a fine snit. "Having me _arrested_! Couldn't you have just _requested _that I return?"

"Of course, I could have," he admitted, rising from his chair to move around the desk towards her. Her lips were pursed in irritation and she looked just a little bedraggled – like someone who'd been through a grand adventure. "But that wouldn't have been nearly so much fun. What did Balthier do?"

"He drew a weapon on your guards. What did you _think _he was going to do, say goodbye and frolic gaily away?" She huffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Next time you might consider that I was not put on Ivalice solely for your amusement, so please leave me out of whatever mind games you might choose to play with Balthier," she cautioned. "Emperor or not, I can still take you out."

He smiled down at her, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her close for a hug. "It's good to see you again, Penelo," he said. She offered her cheek for him to kiss, sighing resignedly.

"I wish you'd stop growing," she told him. "It's getting a little annoying to always have to be looking up at you."

"I apologize," he said. "Though I can control an empire, I fear I have no control whatsoever on when I shall stop growing." He offered her a chair, which she took gratefully, having had little time to rest upon her frantic flight from the dungeon of Nalbina Fortress.

"I've taken the liberty of sending for some tea and having a chamber prepared for you tonight," he said. "I imagine you will want to stay and rest for the night."

"I can't, I'm afraid," she said. "I've got to get back to Rabanastre and –"

"She's here," he interrupted gently.

"Hmm? Who?"

"Elionora. Ashe is here for a brief visit and she's brought Ellie along with her. That's why I had you brought back here. If you'd gone back to Rabanastre, you'd have found her gone. I assumed you wouldn't want Balthier to know why you'd had a sudden change of plans, which is why I took the liberty of arresting you rather than informing you of Ellie's whereabouts." He poured Penelo a cup of tea from the tray that a servant had brought, handing it across to her. "She's beautiful, Penelo."

"Oh." Penelo sipped her tea. "Thank you," she said.

"It's been so long since last she saw me that she didn't recognize me," he said regretfully. "But I would have recognized her anywhere. She looks just like you. And, unfortunately, like Balthier."

Penelo winced. "Not…not so much that anyone would really notice," she offered.

"Perhaps, if the observer lacked _eyes_, they might not notice," Larsa said sarcastically. "She's got his eyes, Penelo, and that devil-may-care smile he's so fond of sporting. I'm half-certain she's got his temperament as well, she's such a cheeky little imp."

He reached across the table, laying his hand over hers. "You've got to protect her, Penelo. What do you think Balthier will do when he learns he has a daughter?"

Penelo shook her head. "He won't find out. It's been five years already, and _I _had to seek _him _out. He'll never come around Rabanastre." Still, something tickled the back of her brain, something important – some vaguely nagging worry that made her the tiniest bit nervous. "Besides, he wouldn't want her, anyway. He's probably got a dozen bastards scattered around Ivalice. He wouldn't concern himself with _my_ daughter."

"You can't be sure of that," Larsa said. "You need someone to protect you, and Ellie needs a father. Marry me, Penelo. I will claim Ellie as my own. Even if Balthier should discover her then, there will be nothing he can do. One man cannot take on an Empire."

Penelo resisted the urge to point out that their small party had done just that, and had come out victorious.

"You know I can't do that," she said. "I don't love you, not like that. And besides, everyone would know Ellie wasn't yours – she would've made you a father at fourteen, Larsa. Not that it's impossible in and of itself…but you've been so heavily guarded all your life, it's as good as impossible." She straightened her shoulders. "Ellie's been just fine without a father so far. She can't miss what she's never had. It's kind of you to offer, but I don't want your sort of life – not for me, and not for Ellie."

Larsa sighed. "The offer stands," he said, "should you change your mind. The fact of the matter is my advisors are urging me to take a wife. I would rather have _you _than some foreign princess about whom I know nothing. At least with you, I would have a wife I could love and respect. We've known each other a long time, Penelo. Would marrying me really be so horrible?"

"It's not that," she said. "You have always been a good friend to me, and I hope it will always be that way. It's just that I couldn't live in the cage that you live in, however fine it might be. Besides, you would be getting a wife who has made a career of piracy and who comes with another man's child. I think eventually you would resent that." She set down her tea cup and rose from her chair to look out the window.

"Never," he replied. "Elionora is a beautiful child, Penelo," he said. "Any man would be fortunate to call her his daughter. I may be young, but I am not a child, and I know my own mind. I would love Ellie as if she were my own. I'll make you both happy, Penelo. You would have no cause to regret marrying me."

"Be that as it may, I can't marry you, Larsa," she said. "It's kind of you to be concerned for Ellie and I, and I hope we'll remain good friends, but I can't let you make that kind of sacrifice for us. We'll be fine." She brushed back her bangs from her face, then smiled kindly. "Now, could you have someone take me to Ellie? I'd like to see her before she goes to sleep for the night."

Larsa gracefully accepted the subject change and rang the bell pull, instructing the servant that had arrived to show Penelo to Ashe's chamber. As the door closed behind her, Larsa slumped in his chair, sighing heavily.

"Rejected once again," he muttered.

--

Penelo could hear the sounds of merriment all the way down the hall from Ashe's chamber. The stoic servant showed no expression at the cacophonous ruckus and simple ushered Penelo towards the large double doors at the end of the hall.

He struck a brass knocker on the wood, and all within went quiet.

"Yes?" Ashe's voice floated through the door. A high-pitched giggle erupted, obviously a child's, and was frantically shushed by Ashe.

The servant's expression did not change. "Miss Penelo is here to see you, your majesty."

A gasp of delight from within. "Mama!"

Penelo smothered a smile.

Ashe cleared her throat. "Yes, yes, of course. Do come in." The door swung open. "We were just sitting down to tea."

Penelo entered the chamber, ignoring the large bed with its rumpled covers. Obviously the two had been jumping upon it, but Penelo wisely said nothing. For some reason or other, Ashe enjoyed babysitting Elionora. Perhaps she had a soft spot for children, or maybe with Elionora, Ashe felt she could recapture the childhood she'd never really gotten to have. At any rate, Ashe liked to pretend that Ellie was getting etiquette lessons whilst in her care and Penelo saw no real reason not to let her continue with the pretense. Ellie liked spending time with her, and, frankly, Penelo believed that Ashe needed some respite from her phenomenally boring queenly duties.

Looking the perfect little lady in her stark white pinafore, Ellie made a miniature curtsey as Penelo entered.

"Good evening, Mama," she said sweetly. "Would you like some tea?"

Penelo smiled – so it seemed Ashe was actually giving her a bit of instruction after all.

"Tea? At this time of night? Perhaps we'd better have milk and cookies instead." She held out her arms. "I'll take a hug, though."

Ellie dropped the angelic pretense and ran to her, flinging her arms about Penelo's waist. Her face buried in Penelo's midsection, she mumbled, "I missed you, Mama."

Penelo lifted the child into her arms, cradling her close, feeling Ellie's soft blonde hair tickling her throat as the girl pillowed her head on Penelo's shoulder.

"I was only gone for a day," she said, rubbing her daughter's back. "But I missed you, too, Ellie."

Ashe motioned to the servant standing unobtrusively near the door, waiting to be dismissed. "Please bring a tray of cookies and milk," she requested.

Ellie raised her head. Penelo swallowed hard – Larsa had been right. Ellie's eyes were a bright, inquisitive green exactly the shade of her father's. Maybe she'd denied the resemblance to herself too many times to be able to view her daughter objectively.

"Mama," Ellie said, pressing her palms to Penelo's cheeks. "You look funny. Does your tummy hurt? Maybe you shouldn't have cookies. Auntie says I always eat too many and that's why I get tummy aches." She shrugged her small shoulders. "If your tummy hurts, I could eat your cookies for you, just so you won't have to," she volunteered.

"That's very sweet of you," Penelo replied, setting Ellie back on her feet, "but I'm feeling just fine. Why don't you go play with your dolls until our cookies get here, okay?"

"Okay!" Ellie said. "Auntie likes to play dolls with me. She says she didn't have any dolls when she was little." Skeptically, she glanced over at Ashe. "Auntie Ashe, I think that must have been a very long time ago."

"Go on, now," Penelo urged, embarrassed. Ellie took the hint, scampering to the far side of the large room, plunging into the midst of a vast array of dolls and their many and varied accessories that had been scattered around on the floor.

"What cheek!" Ashe observed. "Imagine, calling one's monarch _old_!"

"She didn't get it from me," Penelo said emphatically.

"No, I don't imagine so," Ashe mused. She hesitated, then said in a low voice, "She is very like him, isn't she?"

Penelo frowned, a little uncomfortable with the line of conversation. When Penelo had found herself pregnant, there had been no doubt in anyone's mind as to the child's paternity. Everyone had known the child was Balthier's, and yet it was not until just recently that anyone had ever referred to Elionora as anything but Penelo's daughter. They had tactfully made no mention at all of Elionora's father, generally declining to mention Balthier, even in passing, in Penelo's presence.

Until now, anyway.

"She's very like me, too," Penelo responded defensively.

"Yes, but she's something more – she's just a bit wicked on occasion. She must've inherited it from _him_." Ashe motioned for Penelo to take a seat in a chair at the small table by the window. "How was he? It's been so long since anyone has heard from him. Even Fran does not travel with him any longer, so I hear. She is expected to arrive in Archades shortly, as an emissary of her people."

"She's gone back to the Eruyt Village?" Penelo was surprised.

Ashe shook her head. "They will not have her back, and I do not think Fran would choose to join them even should they allow it. She comes because they will not leave, to act as an intermediary of sorts between our races. They use her for their own ends, and she allows it."

"For Mjrn, I think she would do a lot." Penelo understood the familial devotion. Family meant sacrifices. Fran would protect Mjrn no matter the cost, without any hope of reciprocation.

"For Jote, too, I think. They were close once, or so I am given to understand." Ashe cleared her throat. "About Balthier. Did the two of you safely escape from Nalbina?"

"Yes, though there were a few times I thought we wouldn't," Penelo said. "I only wish we could have found Fran in time – she would have been a great deal of help."

"Rest assured that by now she likely knows all about your exploits – Larsa managed to reach her just a few hours ago. Unfortunately, by then it was too late for her to come to your assistance, and you'd already managed rather nicely on your own," Ashe said, approvingly.

A knock sounded on the door, heralding the arrival of their late night snack. A servant carried in a tray, and Ellie abandoned her dolls in favor of the cookies on the tray. Ashe handed her a cup of milk and a small plate of cookies, then settled into a chair across from Penelo.

"I'd rather not talk about this in front of Ellie," Penelo murmured, sipping her milk.

Ashe hesitated, noting the way Ellie's head had popped up with interest – obviously aware that the two adults were talking about her.

"She has a right to know about him," Ashe replied. "Eventually, she'll want to know. What will you tell her?"

"The truth," Penelo said at once. "But not until she's old enough to understand."

Ellie kicked her legs, spilling a small shower of cookie crumbs upon her white dress. "Know about what, Mama?"

"It's not important, sweetheart," Penelo soothed, watching Ellie reach for another cookie. "Just one more, or you'll get a stomach ache."

"What will you do if he reappears?" Ashe asked. "Wouldn't you rather have Ellie prepared for the eventuality than have her completely shocked and maybe even afraid of him?"

"He won't show up." Penelo was tired of defending herself to others. She understood that they cared about her, but Ellie was her child, her decision, her responsibility alone. "He's got no reason to show up."

"He has you." Ashe said it as if it explained everything.

Penelo laughed derisively. "He left five years ago without so much as a backward glance. If he was interested in me, don't you think he would have resurfaced before now? Not that it matters – I don't want him around, anyway."

"Do you say that because it is true or because you _wish _it to be true?"

Penelo couldn't quite meet Ashe's bold gaze. Embarrassed by Ashe's astute observation and irritated at being called out on her blatant falsehood, she stood. "Ellie, it's far past your bedtime. Go get your dolls, please."

As Ellie scampered off, Ashe touched Penelo's shoulder. "I do not mean to force you to justify your decisions, Penelo. You know I have no particular love for Balthier, but…you cannot fault him for failing to acknowledge the daughter he does not know he has."

"I know that," Penelo said. "If he had come by Rabanastre, even just once…"

"You knew what sort of man he was when you became involved with him," Ashe replied. "I do not believe it is in his nature to settle down. However, he has a beautiful daughter, Penelo, and he has a right to know about her. Would you deny her the chance to know her father? Would you deny him his child?"

"I don't deny him anything," Penelo said firmly.

"Nor do you offer him anything," Ashe countered swiftly. "You are just as guilty in this as he, and it is Ellie who will suffer for it. Your feelings are of no consequence – you must put them aside and do what is right for your daughter."

"Mama, I'm ready." Ellie trotted over with an overflowing satchel in tow. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course." Penelo urged Ellie towards the door. "Good night, Ashe," Penelo said briskly. "I'm afraid that this conversation will have to wait until a later date. Thank you for taking care of Ellie today."

Penelo heard Ashe's sigh of defeat as she closed the door behind her. The hallway was dimly lit, and to Ellie it seemed like it stretched forever.

"Is it very far away, Mama?" Ellie yawned widely.

"Not very far," Penelo answered. "Uncle Larsa put us in another wing, but we're not very far away from Auntie Ashe. Maybe we can have breakfast with Auntie Ashe and Uncle Larsa tomorrow before we go home."

"Okay." Another big yawn. "I like Uncle Larsa; he's funny." Ellie rubbed her eyes, then looked up at Penelo. "Mama, will you carry me?"

Obligingly, Penelo lifted the child into her arms. Ellie snuggled down, twining her chubby arms around Penelo's neck, resting her cheek on her shoulder. Within moments, she was sound asleep and breathing deeply.

Penelo stroked her daughter's soft hair – Ellie was four years old already, and Penelo had still not quite managed to cease being amazed at the tiny miracle fate had bestowed upon her. Though Ellie had not been conceived in the most ideal of circumstances, Penelo had been nothing short of delighted upon learning of her imminent arrival. And, rather than condemning her for falling pregnant outside of wedlock or berating her for her irresponsibility, everyone (apart from Balthier and Fran, of whom little to nothing had been seen since Ellie's conception) had rallied around her and managed to cobble together a remarkably stable pseudo-family unit in which Ellie had grown and flourished.

Though Ellie was frequently into all sorts of mischief and trouble, she was a sweet and generally good-natured child. Penelo did not think she had suffered from want of a father – in fact, Ellie had never seemed to realize that the majority of her friends had two parents, or wondered why she had only a mother. Though she supposed someday Ellie would have questions about her father, Penelo hoped that the day she would need to provide those answers would be long in coming.

Penelo sighed, rounding a corner – and stopped short. There in the hallway before her stood Fran, her usually indifferent expression absent and a look of complete and utter bemusement upon her elegant face. Though it had been years since last they had met, the Viera had not changed at all. Not that Penelo had expected her to – the Viera lived for hundreds of years and Fran was fully grown.

"I thought…Balthier's scent…"

Penelo had never known the Viera to be lost for words, but she knew there was a chance that if Fran were to learn of Ellie's parentage, the information could find its way back to Balthier.

"I was with him earlier this evening," Penelo said warily. "You probably smell him on me."

Fran shook her head, her white hair slipping over her shoulders. "No, this scent…it is different. It is unlike anything I have ever…" she hesitated, focusing on the little girl curled in Penelo's arms. "The child…"

"My daughter. Elionora." Penelo moved to walk past Fran, but the Viera neatly countered the step, her dark eyes full of questions that Penelo did not want to answer. She lowered her own, lest Fran read the answers she desired within them. "It's late, Fran. Ellie needs her sleep. Perhaps we'll see you in the morning." _But hopefully not._

Fran stepped aside to let Penelo pass. She got only a few feet before Fran spoke again. "Your daughter," she murmured. "And Balthier's."

It was not a question. Penelo stopped. "Don't…don't tell him. Please. Ellie is _mine_."

"It is not my tale to tell. Though I suspect I will not have to tell him," Fran said. "He will discover for himself. He comes to Archades to rescue you from Larsa," she said. "I suspect he is here already, though as yet I have been unable to locate him."

Penelo drew in a shaky breath – so _that _was why Fran had been so surprised to see her instead of Balthier! She had to get Ellie hidden safely away!

Doing a quick about-face, she all but ran down the corridor back towards Ashe's room – the one place Balthier would be certain to avoid, as he had no particular love for the woman. She rapped on the door with the brass knocker, waiting impatiently for Ashe to come to the door.

"Penelo, what is it?" Ashe asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

"Not a ghost," Penelo gasped. "Fran. She's guessed about Ellie. And she thinks that Balthier is headed here. Please, can you take her for tonight?"

"Of course." Ashe opened her arms to receive the sleeping child, who made not so much as a murmur as she was transferred from the arms of one woman to the other. "Penelo, I am sorry if I upset you earlier. It was not my intention to force my will on you. Of course Ellie is your child and you want the best for her. We all do. But I should not been so overzealous in stating my opinion."

Penelo waved away the apology. "No, I understand. I just…Ellie is my little girl. I want her to stay mine. Just for a little longer. And…and I don't want her to be hurt if he doesn't want her, or make him think I expect him to take responsibility for her. We've done just fine on our own."

"You've done wonderfully," Ashe said. "Ellie is a treasure. If I had a child, I suppose I would want her to be just like Ellie." As if in response to the praise, Ellie snuggled deeper into Ashe's embrace. "Go, now. Ellie will be fine," Ashe assured Penelo. She closed the door quietly, and Penelo, ill at ease, headed back towards her bedchamber.

Why was he coming? Hadn't she told him Larsa would not harm her? Brooding, Penelo walked the darkened corridors. Fran was nowhere to be seen, and Penelo couldn't help wondering if she'd gone to seek out Balthier, though somehow she felt that tattling was not quite the Viera's style.

And she realized that she did _not_ want him to know about their daughter – ever. Even if in some dark corner of her heart she still loved him, she knew he would not commit to a family – doubted even that he would care enough about his own child to be a regular figure in her life. Ellie deserved better. _Penelo _deserved better. It would be better for him to never know his daughter than for him to come in and out of her life with no rhyme or reason. She would have to protect Ellie's fragile, developing psyche – even from Balthier. Even if it meant never seeing him again. Even if it meant concealing Ellie's existence from him forever.

In complete emotional and mental upheaval, she entered her bedchamber. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then changed into a respectably modest nightgown. She ruled out going to seek him out herself, as there was a greater likelihood that they would bypass each other entirely, making it more likely that he would run into Ashe and Ellie at some point.

Instead she climbed into bed, knowing that if what Fran had said were true, he would be along sooner or later to find her, and she wasn't about to miss out on much-needed sleep waiting up for him.

Her over-wrought nerves and physical exhaustion caught up with her the moment her head hit the pillow. But her dreams were restive and troubled, fraught with fear and anxiety. In her dreams, Balthier's handsome face twisted in derision as he mocked her for imagining he might actually care about the child he'd sired. She tossed and turned in her bed, covers catching around her knees, whimpering her distress.

The next thing she knew, a heavy hand was sliding over her mouth, and a warm voice was murmuring in her ear, "Wake up, my dear, it is time we were going."


	9. Chapter 9

_A few hours earlier._

It had taken almost two hours longer than he'd expected to reach Rabanastre, as Balthier lacked both a map and Penelo's wonderful sense of direction. Of course, it didn't ease his irritation any to be forced to hawk a weapon simply to gain enough gil to make the flight out of Rabanastre to Archades.

Though he was certain that Larsa would not harm Penelo, he resented the heavy-handed manner with which the little lordling had taken possession of her. Balthier had little respect for authority and none at all for a half-grown, pompous child who'd seemed far too interested in Penelo for Balthier's taste even when was at the tender age of fourteen. So if it was to be war between the two men, Balthier would make certain he would come out the winner.

He spent the short journey aboard the ship in his cabin, enjoying a long, hot shower and availing himself of the clothing he'd purchased as well as taking the time to shave and trim his somewhat ragged nails. He lounged upon the bed, waiting impatiently for the ship to dock, then collected his things for storage upon the _Strahl_. A few minutes later, he was headed out of the Aerodrome towards the palace.

Though the palace was heavily guarded, Balthier scoffed over how ridiculously easy it was to distract a couple of sentries and slip by unnoticed. Once within the inner grounds, Balthier did not attempt to conceal his presence and all the sentries he passed seemed to assume that he belonged there. It took no more than ten minutes to locate Larsa's study – the guards posted outside and the stoic-looking servant standing at the ready without the chamber confirmed Balthier's suspicions.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass," the servant said, fixing Balthier with a disapproving glare. "His majesty must not be disturbed. If you'd care to make an appointment, I can see about getting you an audience. Next month, perhaps, or a little later."

"_Now_ is good for me," Balthier responded. "If you would kindly step aside…"

"I will not!" The man bristled, gesturing to the guards. "Have this _gentleman _removed from the premises at once."

The door opened and Larsa appeared in the doorway. "Let him enter," he said. "It's all right, I've been expecting him."

"There, you see?" Balthier murmured snidely, knocking the servant's powdered wig askew. "He's been _expecting _me."

"Of course, my lord. Shall I send for a fresh tray of tea?" The man offered.

"Yes, do," Larsa replied. He stepped back, leaving room for Balthier to enter. "Do come in, Balthier, I think we have much to discuss."

Silently, Balthier entered the chamber, closing the door behind him.

Larsa took a seat. "You are later than I had expected," Larsa said. "I sent for tea over an hour ago, and now it is quite cold, so you will have to wait for a fresh pot. You're getting slow," he sighed. "First you require assistance from a woman to escape your predicament and then you cannot even come to rescue her in a timely fashion."

Balthier scowled. "I apologize if my tardiness offends you," he said sarcastically, "but I was left in the middle of Dalmasca's Estersand with neither a map nor a navigator. It was an area with which I am unfamiliar. It took longer than I had expected to find my way back to Rabanastre."

Larsa 'tsk'ed disapprovingly. "As a sky pirate, you should be prepared for any eventuality," he admonished. "Perhaps it's time for you to go into a new line of work."

Balthier pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself that injuring Larsa would be high treason and it would be best not to commit it within the confines of the Palace.

"Where is Penelo?" He asked.

Larsa folded his hands together. "Probably sleeping, as she should be at this time of night."

The servant entered with the fresh tray and silently removed the old one. Larsa prepared a cup of tea for himself, then offered the tray to Balthier, who declined it.

"Please, sit," Larsa said.

"I am here to retrieve Penelo, not for a friendly little chat with your majesty." Balthier performed a mocking half-bow. "If you will not tell me where she is being held, I will find her myself." He flung open the door.

"Stop him," Larsa said calmly, sipping his tea. The sentries outside blocked the doorway at once, shoving Balthier roughly back within. Infuriated, Balthier fished the gun out of its holster, cocked it, and took aim at Larsa.

"Let me pass," he gritted out.

"He will not kill me," Larsa informed his guards blithely. "He realizes that if killed me he would never make out of the palace alive, and he values his own life too much to imperil it."

"Oh, but I could cause a great deal of pain without ever endangering your life. Of course it would get me thrown in prison again, but I'm beginning to think it might be worth it." His lips curled into a mirthless smile as he surveyed the younger man. "Perhaps I should just shoot off that ridiculous ponytail," he said. "You look more and more like your dear brother Vayne every time I see you."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Bring him in and sit him down," Larsa ordered. The sentries, large and heavily armored men, overpowered Balthier. They knocked the gun from his hand, escorted him to a chair and pushed him down into it.

"Now," Larsa said, "we begin. Five years ago, I told you to stay away from Penelo. You failed to heed my warning then, and you would disobey it now."

"I do not answer to children barely out of the school room," Balthier answered. "You mistake me for a loyal subject. I do not suffer your meddling gladly."

"In future, you will heed my words and stay far, far away from her. Am I making myself clear?" Larse set his empty cup upon the tray, fixing Balthier with a clear, hard look.

"Oh, quite clear, my lord," Balthier remarked scathingly. "If I had any intention of heeding your words, I imagine I would be quite intimidated."

Larse ignored the caustic remark. "I allowed Penelo to go to you this evening only because I lacked another suitable option. I would not have minded seeing you get your comeuppance – however, I am aware that it would greatly upset Penelo if she were ever to discover that I knew of your situation and did nothing. I removed her from your company as quickly as possible, and it shall continue thusly if you try to see her. You will find her continually made unavailable to you, so it would be a waste of your time even to attempt it," Larsa explained.

"Is Penelo aware that you've taken to deciding what she is and isn't _allowed _to do?" Balthier asked. "Somehow I feel she would not take kindly to that."

Larsa shrugged. "I see no real need to make her aware of it. You are not a fit companion for her – all you will do is hurt her, and this I will not allow. She fancied herself in love with you once; I will not have it happen again. If you have any respect for her at all, you will keep your distance."

Balthier shrugged off the restraining hands of the guards, surging to his feet. "Penelo is not a child to be commanded, nor a pet to be controlled."

"No, but she is very dear to me, and I will protect her – even from herself. If she has a weakness for you, then I shall ensure that you remain far removed from her." Larsa motioned for the sentries to allow Balthier some space.

"She is neither your subject nor any relation to you. What right have you to make her decisions for her?" Balthier bent to retrieve his weapon, slipping it back into the holster.

"The right of a concerned friend, as well as the right of a prospective husband," Larsa said. "I have every confidence that Penelo will eventually consent to become my wife."

The statement brought Balthier up short. "She has given you reason to think so?" He asked.

"No, not as yet." Larsa linked his hands together. "However, it is my belief that in time she will realize the advantages of such a marriage. Don't tell me you are _surprised_," he said mockingly. "Surely you realized that someday someone would want Penelo. She is a remarkable woman – obviously she would have other suitors. You did not imagine she would await your pleasure in perpetuity, did you?" Larsa chuckled, smiling with grim satisfaction. "Do not play the part of the jealous lover now, Balthier. You are like a spoiled child, hoarding his toys – your desire for Penelo extends only so far as ensuring that no one else may have her. You do not want her for yourself; you merely do not wish to lose to another man."

Balthier ignored the inflammatory words, turning towards the door with his jaw clenched tightly as if to keep his own angry words from spilling out unchecked.

"She will not go with you," Larsa warned. "Even if you should find her, she will not wish to leave with you."

"One never knows," Balthier growled, wrenching open the door. "Perhaps she prefers _men_ to boys playing at being adults."

He slammed the door behind him, and almost ran into Fran, who was waiting in the hallway just beyond the door. She looked unusually disturbed.

"When did you arrive?" He asked.

"Not long ago. I had been…searching for you," she said absently.

Curious, as the palace was rather large, that she had managed to locate him. "How did you find me?"

"I followed your scent," she replied, "and the sound of your shouting. I am given to understand that young Penelo assisted in your escape from Nalbina Fortress?"

"Not so young anymore," he said. "But you understand correctly. She did admirably; I am certain you would have been impressed. She's become quite the successful little pirate." He hesitated. "Do you know where Penelo is staying? Can you take me to her?"

Fran inclined her head. "That way," she said. "Fourth corridor. Travel north to the North Wing. Second corridor to the west. I believe the sixth door on the right is Penelo's chamber."

Balthier frowned. "Are you well, Fran? You seem troubled."

Fran appeared about to speak, then thought better of it. "No, 'tis nothing, and certainly not my place to say besides. I believe I shall stay out of this particular intrigue." She folded her arms, her expression easing into the neutral, indifferent one to which Balthier had become accustomed. "I remain in Archades for a number of days, though I now travel alone. Should you have need of me, I can be reached in any Aerodrome – leave a message for me with the stewardess and she shall see that I receive it when next I arrive. Until we meet again, Balthier. I wish you good luck."

Somehow, Balthier had the sinking suspicion that he would have need of it.

--

Either Balthier was getting rusty or the mechanics of locks had advanced so far that he could no longer keep up with the new technology. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to pick the lock on what Fran had said was Penelo's room. He sincerely hoped she was within, for he did not think he had time enough left in the night to unlock every room in search of her.

Finally, _finally _the lock gave, and the door slid open silently. He moved quietly across the floor, heading to where a sliver of light from the hallway slid across the large, ornate bed. Rumpled covers were strewn across it, twisted and tangled as if its occupant was particularly restless this eve.

He sifted through the mountain of blankets and pillows, carefully lifting each off until he uncovered a tangled web of platinum hair spread across the mattress. Digging further, he unearthed a shoulder and arm swathed in soft white line, a pale throat, a sweet, delicate face. Her eyebrows drew together in a frown, her lips pursed. She murmured something, twisting violently around. Her fingers clutched the sheets in a death grip, knuckles white and tense.

A sensation of unease crept over him – he felt vaguely like an intruder, as though he were viewing upon her face things not meant for his eyes, emotions she would never show him. He invaded her privacy and observed her in moments when her subconscious bared her soul to prying eyes.

He sat at her bedside, stroking back her tangled hair. Her frown eased just a little, but a pathetic little whimper left her throat. The sound was so heart-breaking, it made him ache for her.

He kissed her forehead. "What it is that troubles you so," he murmured. Not that he would ever become her confidante, he mused. She would not trust him with her secrets, and rightly so.

She made a distressed sound, her head tossing on the pillow. Balthier decided it was time to wake her before he did something phenomenally stupid – like climbing into bed beside her and comforting her the only way he knew how.

He covered her pursed lips with one hand lest she scream and draw unnecessary attention.

"Wake up, my dear," he murmured in her ear. "It is time we were going."

She jerked awake, gasping as his lips brushed her cheek, the small sound thoroughly stifled by his palm. Her own hands came up, prying his hand away from her face. She brushed back her disheveled hair with trembling fingers, shoved back the tangled covers, and sat up.

"Oh," she mumbled. "It's just you, Balthier." Heaving a sigh, she slung her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. Her nightgown gathered at her thighs, exposing a generous amount of her smooth, slender legs – legs he had not had the privilege of seeing in long years. When she noticed the direction of his gaze, she huffily yanked the material down. It pooled around her calves, swirling enticingly over her skin as she crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water.

In the high-necked white nightgown, with her hair unbound and falling nearly to her waist in soft, unruly waves she looked as young and innocent as a child. He wondered when exactly she had started wearing nightclothes – or were they merely for Larsa's benefit? Perhaps she did not feel comfortable sleeping unclothed in a bed that was not her own.

She drained her glass, then set it aside on the table. "You shouldn't have come," she said.

"I rather dislike being in someone's debt," he replied. "You came to my rescue, and so, in turn, did I come to yours."

She shrugged. "Maybe that excuse would work if I had happened to be in any real danger. But you _know _Larsa, Balthier. You know he wouldn't hurt me. There was no reason for you to come here, so why did you?"

"The _Strahl _is docked here," he said. "Perhaps I was merely curious to see how this whole debacle was going to play out. I must admit I was intrigued when he sent a squadron of imperial soldiers to _arrest _you, especially since you seemed quite upset about it yourself." He flashed her a grin. "Alas, what am I to say? I possess more than my fair share of nosiness. Why _did _the boy choose to have you arrested, by the way?"

Caught unaware by the question, Penelo floundered for an answer.

Chuckling, Balthier approached her, smirking at her obvious discomfiture. "You know," he murmured, threading his fingers through her hair to draw her closer. "You _could _simply have told me it was none of my business." His other arm slipped around her waist.

Penelo's hands came up to push against his chest, a violent blush coloring her cheeks. "I-it's none of your business," she breathed.

"Too late," he returned, closing the scant distance between them. "Now I'm dying of curiosity." The moment his lips touched hers, all her pretenses of resistance melted away. Her arms twined around his neck, and she lifted onto her tiptoes, pressing herself flush against him.

_This _was what he'd been missing – the knowledge that, despite the fact that he'd intentionally avoided her for the past five years, she'd been his the moment she had re-entered his life. He was suddenly certain that she would not marry Larsa – she _could _not marry Larsa, not with the incredible passion that still existed between them.

There was a conveniently placed bed close by, but it was neither the time nor the place for him to be thinking along those lines – unless he missed his guess, and he seldom did, Larsa would be sending an inconvenient interruption along any minute. Therefore, it was imperative that he remove her from the premises at once to ensure that there would be no such disturbances. He was even seriously considering taking the long route back to Rabanastre to allow himself a few more hours with her.

"Penelo," he whispered against her lips, even as she made a soft sound of protest when he broke the kiss. "We've got to get going."

"What?" Her eyes were closed, her lips seeking his. She wasn't paying any attention.

"Come," he cupped her cheek, kissing the corner of her mouth. "I will return you to Rabanastre myself. But we must leave immediately – I fear your fiancé will soon be arriving."

_That_ jolted her out of her sensual stupor. "My fiancé?" She asked, nonplussed. "Wait…do you mean _Larsa_?"

"Have you another fiancé to speak of?" Balthier inquired irritably. "I was under the impression that they were typically one per customer."

Penelo threw back her head and laughed, irrationally pleased at Balthier's minor display of jealousy.

A knock sounded at the door. "Penelo, are you within?"

"Damn. So the boy has come himself," Balthier muttered. Penelo clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Don't be rude," she admonished lightly. "Larsa isn't a boy any longer, and he certainly won't appreciate you calling him one."

The door opened and Larsa stepped through, frowning at Balthier. He registered the very small amount of space separating Balthier and Penelo, took into account Penelo's rumpled appearance and swollen lips, and drew the logical conclusion.

"I think it is high time for you to remove yourself from Penelo's chamber," he said crisply to Balthier. "It would not be appropriate for you to spend an undue amount of time within it, considering the lateness of the hour and the lady's current state of dress."

"Penelo comes with me," Balthier responded. "Gather your things, sweetheart, and we'll be off."

Larsa fixed Penelo with a meaningful look, one which Balthier could not fail to see and could not fathom the reason behind. He intensely disliked being out of the scope of knowledge. Penelo fidgeted under his weighty gaze.

"I…I…no," she said finally. "I'm not going anywhere, Balthier."

Balthier stared, astonished. "You're staying? Here? With _him_?"

"Not _with _him, no," she snapped back, defensively. "But in the palace, yes. Just until tomorrow." Somehow along the way she'd forgotten that it was not in her best interests to encourage Balthier's affections, though she could not understand why he had chosen now of all times to reassert them.

"Until tomorrow," Balthier said thoughtfully. "I see. And then you will fly back to Rabanastre?"

"Of course," She retorted. "What else should I do? I can't stay _here _indefinitely."

Balthier shot a triumphant look to Larsa, who glowered back. Thoroughly confused, Penelo watched the byplay between the two men with interest.

"Then I shall, of course, take my leave," Balthier said. "Good night, my dear. Sleep well." He swept Penelo into his arms for a kiss that was almost indecent, especially in front of Larsa. She could not possibly mistake it for anything but what it was – a declaration of possession. All of a sudden, the tension between the men became clear. Though she resented being a point of rivalry between the two men, she held her tongue as Balthier strode boldly out the door.

Larsa closed the door, speaking in a low voice lest he be overheard. "If you wish not to repeat your past mistakes, you will have to discourage him," he said.

"I know." Penelo wrung her hands. "I didn't plan it or anything – it just sort of happened." Even to her the excuse sounded flimsy.

Larsa sighed. "I do not want to see you hurt again," he said. "I worry about you – what will be the results of it 'just sort of happening?'" He asked. "The last time, he left you with Ellie. Are you willing to risk another child?"

She winced. "I know," she said. "I was just…caught off-guard. It won't happen again. I won't _let _it happen again." She was pleased that the statement sounded firm and solid.

"I'm pleased to hear that," Larsa replied, "because, to me, it sounded as though Balthier might've been planning an impromptu trip to Rabanastre sometime in the near future."

She could hear the aggravation in his voice. "Why would he do that? He said he'd never go back."

"I'm just going to hazard a guess, here – because of _you_," Larsa said. "Do try to be on your guard. Not just for your sake, but for Ellie's as well." He sketched a small bow. "It is time I should retire," he said. "I wish you good night and a safe journey back, tomorrow. I will try to see you off, if my schedule permits."

"Okay. Good night." She folded her arms over her chest. "And, Larsa…thank you. For being concerned about me, and for Ellie. You're a good friend."

He smiled noncommittally as he left the room.

Penelo watched the door close behind him, then collapsed onto her bed with a heavy sigh. What was Balthier _thinking_? Why would he want to go back to Rabanastre for _her_?

And then it hit her – that tiny, nagging sensation that had been tugging at her memory all evening.

The handkerchief. She'd _invited _him back!


	10. Chapter 10

True to his word, Larsa managed to find a bit of spare time between audiences to see Ellie and Penelo safely aboard a ship bound for Rabanastre. Ellie, who had never before been outside of Dalmasca's borders, had found Archades to be interesting and exciting, and so threw a minor temper tantrum when Penelo announced that they'd be leaving.

"I don't want to go," she declared dramatically, sniffling. "I like it here." She thrust her lower lip out in a pout.

"I know," Penelo soothed, dabbing the tears from Ellie's cheeks. "But we can come back. It's not so very far away."

Slightly mollified, Ellie tugged Larsa's hand. "Uncle Larsa, will you come visit me?"

Charmed, Larsa promptly forgot that it was with Balthier's eyes that the child gazed up at him, entreating him so sweetly. He laid his hand atop her head, ruffling her silky blonde curls. "Of course I will, darling." He scooped the child into his arms, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and hug him tightly. Then, carefully, he handed her over to her mother.

"Have a good trip," He said, kissing Penelo's cheek fondly. "Be safe."

"We will," Penelo assured him. "Thank you, Larsa. We'll get going now. I'm sure you've got plenty more important things to deal with."

"No, not really," he said. "A few meetings, some trade agreements to resolve. Nothing that can't wait. You're the most important thing." He smoothed back her bangs. "You and Ellie will always come first."

Humbled, Penelo offered him a smile. She wouldn't marry him because she didn't love him – but she sincerely regretted that. Wistfully, she sighed. If only she had gotten to choose who to love! Surely, she would have picked Larsa, who had always been such a loyal, devoted friend to her.

He sensed her conflicted emotions. "Go on," He said, nodding towards the ship. "I meant what I said; I'll come visit. Soon, I promise," he assured Ellie. "_And _I'll bring you a present when I come."

"No ponies!" Penelo whispered fiercely to Larsa, who threw back his head and laughed.

Delighted, Ellie linked her arms around Penelo's neck. "I'm ready to go home now, Mama," she said solemnly. "Bye, Uncle Larsa."

"Be good for your mother," Larsa instructed, handing Penelo and Ellie over to the care of the stewardess. He waited at the gate until the doors closed and the ship took off, wondering how soon he could possibly manage to get away from his obligations to fulfill his promise to Ellie.

--

Ellie loved flying; Penelo knew it by the way she ran gleefully about the observation deck. She'd inherited her love of the skies from both of her parents, and Penelo worried that someday, not _too _far in the future, that Ellie would want her own airship. Flying was in her blood – Penelo could only hope that _pirating _wasn't.

Ellie joined some children who were putting together a puzzle over in one corner of the observation deck, well out of the way of any adult passersby, and Penelo allowed her a little time to socialize with some children her own age before removing her to the interior stateroom for a light lunch and then retiring to their cabin for a nap.

Penelo awoke when the ship touched down – her days of pirating had trained her to become alert at the vaguest sign of turbulence. Down the hall, the speaker blared to life, heralding their arrival in Rabanastre. She gathered their things, making sure that all of Ellie's dolls had made it safely back from Archades, then reached over and ruffled Ellie's tousled hair.

"Let's go, sweetheart. We need to stop by the market before dinner."

Ellie opened her eyes, frowning sleepily. "I hate the market. It's boring."

"I'll let you pick out dinner," Penelo wheedled.

Ellie was a four-year-old master negotiator. Eyeing Penelo speculatively, she said, "_And _dessert?"

"If you're good and do exactly as I say without complaint." Penelo tapped the tip of Ellie's nose.

"Deal." Ellie hopped from the bed, smoothing out the creases in her dress. "I can carry my dolls, Mama," she said, holding out her hands to take the bag.

Together they left the Aerodrome, heading down the busy Rabanastran thoroughfare towards The Sandsea and the little plaza in which both Penelo's restaurant and their small apartment were located. They stopped at home first, dropping off their things and getting a change of clothes, and then stopped by the restaurant to see how Penelo's day-shift manager was handling the rush of people they were sure to get.

Penelo supposed she could have left Ellie in the care of one of the waitresses instead of dragging the recalcitrant child with her to the market, but…without knowing when or where or even _if _Balthier would ever make his grand appearance, she didn't want to leave Ellie alone.

"Mama, can we have an apple pie?" Ellie tugged Penelo's fingers, jerking her out of her anxious reverie.

"Let's decide on dinner first," she replied. "Go pick out what you want, and _then _we'll discuss dessert."

Ellie darted ahead, examining the rows and rows of market stalls with all sorts of foods laid out upon them.

"Not so far ahead!" Penelo called, keeping a watchful eye on her exuberant child. "And remember to pick out some vegetables, too!" She had no worries that the vendors would attempt to cheat the girl – most of the vendors knew her by sight and would bill Penelo's account for the goods Ellie wanted. Likewise, they would not wish to alienate the owner of a profitable establishment – one which purchased a large quantity of their goods – by giving her daughter a raw deal. Ellie would get the best there was to be had.

"She's quite an…excitable child," came a voice from somewhere behind her. "Lord Larsa seems quite taken with her."

Penelo glanced over her shoulder. "Sir Basch! What are you doing here?"

"I have been dispatched to see that you arrived safely and to ensure your continuing safety." He gave a wry smile. "I suspect that also among my duties I should count keeping Balthier at bay – that is, away from Elionora and yourself. Lord Larsa bids me tell you that he shall be arriving within the week. He will be staying at the palace in the care of Queen Ashe, but it is his hope that you and Elionora will visit with him often."

She frowned – though she appreciated Larsa's assistance, she did _not _appreciate that he assumed he could manage her life however he saw fit. Still, she welcomed Basch's help. She couldn't be with Ellie at absolutely every moment – and if Balthier were to come across them together, well, there could be little doubt that Ellie was Penelo's daughter. He would have questions, and that way lay disaster.

"Well," she said, "Ellie will be pleased."

Basch heard the subtle tones of irritation in her voice. "But you won't?"

She slanted him a look. "We're going to have words about his interference," she sighed. "It's going to drive me crazy! He's got an entire empire to run, and it's not enough – no, he wants to run everything and everyone around him. Well, I won't have it," she huffed, planting her hands on her hips.

Basch suppressed a smile at the minor display of temper. "I really do believe he intends to marry you," he said. "I'm sure it wasn't simply an offer made in the spirit of friendship – I suspect he's been half in love with you for most of his young life."

"Well, he can _intend _whatever he wants!" She blew out an angry breath, working herself into a fine snit. "His right to throw his weight around ends when it oversteps _my _rights. I don't care if he _is _an Emperor, _nobody _just barges into my life and takes over!"

Basch laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her out of her temper tantrum. "No one would be so foolish as to think to do such a thing," he soothed. "I was not sent to keep an eye on you or report your activities – I am sent simply to prevent Balthier from makingany trouble. It is entirely possible that you shall never see me, as I need not remain particularly close to you to be an effective guardian."

Somewhat placated, Penelo shrugged. "If you speak with Larsa before he arrives, please let him know that I'm not happy with him," she said. "He should know better by now than to try those ridiculous maneuvers on me."

"Mama!" Ellie reappeared, a couple of bags clutched in her small hands. "I decided on cluckatrice dumplings!" She hefted aloft a bag containing some vegetables – from the looks of it, a couple of potatoes, carrots, and onions. "I even got some vegetables, like you said."

"Well done," Penelo said, her aggravated expression softening into a pleased smile. "Since you've done so nicely, you may pick out whatever you'd like for dessert."

"I want an apple pie," Ellie said, rifling through her bags, lifting out a sack of apples. "See? I already got them, Mama."

Basch roared with laughter at Penelo's disconcerted look. "You were never quite so impertinent as that," he assured Penelo, who responded with a sharp glare.

For the first time, Ellie's gaze swung towards Basch. Her eyes widened, assessing him intently. "You're _really _tall," she said. "Are you my mama's friend?"

"And Larsa's," he answered. "We have met before, but I think you were likely too young to remember. My given name is Basch," he said in a low voice. "But the name I answer to is now Gabranth. Can you remember that?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Everyone calls me Ellie," she said. "But my name is really _Elionora_." She said it with an air of disgust, as though she believed the name to be much too long and troublesome for such a little girl. "Will you have dinner with us, Mister?" Shifting the mass of bags in her small arms, she fished out a wrapped package of cluckatrice meat. "Did I get enough of everything, Mama?"

Penelo took the bags, inspecting their contents. "Yes, I think so," she said. "Basch, can you stay?"

"If you do not mind having me, I would like nothing better. Allow me," he said, retrieving the bags from Penelo. "By all means, lead the way."

"My mama makes the best dumplings," Ellie said, slipping her hand into Penelo's. "Everyone says so."

"I imagine they're right," he replied. "I remember your mother to be a wonderful cook – and she can only have improved over time."

Ellie more or less led the way back to their apartment, chatting merrily most of the way. She exclaimed with joy over Basch's announcement that Larsa would be making good on his promise to visit, wildly speculating over what sort of a gift he'd bring her. Though she had no real concept of royalty versus commoners (as she counted a queen among her most frequent playmates), she somehow had sensed that Larsa was someone important and was therefore likely to bring some sort of ridiculously expensive toy that Penelo had heretofore denied her.

Penelo, on the other hand, genuinely hoped that Larsa would bring a small trinket and nothing more – while Ellie had not really been born to privilege, they were certainly making a comfortable living. Ellie would not grow up among the urchins of Lowtown. They had a good sized apartment in the heart of Rabanastre, near the Palace. Ellie had all her needs met and still had plenty of toys…however, she would not have everything handed to her on a silver platter, or she would grow up just like Balthier – arrogant and egotistical. She would not have Ellie like Vaan - glamorizing sky piracy simply because it could afford her a comfortable lifestyle. It would be better that she attend a good school and learn an honest trade.

"Mama, can I help cook?" Ellie asked as Penelo pushed open the door, holding it open so that Basch could pass through. He set the bags on the kitchen counter.

"Why don't you give our guest a tour, and then you can come wash up and help me," Penelo said, beginning to unpack their purchases.

"Okay!" Ellie scampered off, Basch in tow, while Penelo organized her ingredients, wondering how much of her kitchen was likely to be destroyed by Ellie's creative 'cooking' efforts this time. Despite her enthusiasm for it, cooking was _not _one of the talents Ellie had inherited from Penelo. Penelo only hoped she would improve with time – and that she wouldn't seriously sicken anyone in the meantime.

And she hoped Balthier wouldn't make town anytime soon – as Basch was within their home, he could hardly be watching for any sign of Balthier or the _Strahl_. It made Penelo just the tiniest bit nervous.

--

Balthier arrived in Rabanastre early in the evening. Though it had been easy enough to discover the location of Penelo's restaurant, finding her residence was proving somewhat more difficult. He had quite nearly given up and resigned himself to asking Ashe to point him in the right direction when, completely by chance, he came upon a cluster of apartments in the center of town. They were not so very far from the restaurant, and the only residences he'd glimpsed within the district so far.

With the less than fond way she'd spoken of Lowtown to him in years past he did not think that, as the owner of a thriving business, she would choose to live in such a poor location, and the apartments seemed infinitely more likely due to their close proximity to her business.

He strolled along the narrow walkway, glancing left and right at the rows of small apartments, sneaking glances within the ones with open windows, hoping one of them would reveal itself to belong to Penelo. All around, families were sitting down to dinner, and he wondered – was Penelo sitting down to dinner, too? If he knocked, would she invite him in? If she invited him in, would she invite him to stay the night?

It was an appealing idea.

The last apartment in the row was lit from within, and the sound of familiar laughter poured through the open window. And then, a familiar voice – a _masculine _voice. And the high trill of a child's laughter. Confused, he stole a glance through the window.

It was a cozy scene, with Penelo, Basch – and their _daughter _seated around the small table. His hands curled into fists – obviously he'd been wrong. Penelo must have wasted little time pining after him, and had likely moved straight on to the stalwart soldier. Anger, coupled with a strange emotion, something like jealousy, welled up within him. Just how long had it taken for her to jump into Basch's bed? A week, perhaps two? Was he so easily replaceable in her affections as that? He stood there, fuming, for a moment, until he realized how odd it was that he should be so furious over a woman. He'd never been tempted to put his fist through someone's face over a woman before (excepting perhaps the whole debacle with Larsa, and that only because he was certain the other man courted Penelo only to piss off Balthier) - why should he start now?

He wondered why the thought of Penelo with a child affected him so strongly. He had no right to be put out. He had made no claims upon her. She had every right to do exactly as she pleased. But with _Basch_? Unfathomable. He was much too staid and serious for her.

And how, he wondered, did little Lord Larsa feel about his intended bride bearing the child of his most trusted Knight? Or did Larsa even _know _that Penelo had a child?

He turned, heading back the way he'd come without announcing his presence. Obviously they would not welcome an interruption. Still, he wondered – why had they not married? He knew Basch to be a permanent resident of Archadia, so it was obvious that they lived apart. Perhaps Basch was only visiting his daughter, and they weren't really quite the happy family they'd seemed.

Inwardly conflicted, Balthier retreated to The Sandsea for a couple of pints of ale while he worked out his plans. He could always leave, and with Penelo none the wiser that he'd ever been in Rabanastre at all. But that would be tantamount to admitting defeat – and at Basch's hands, too, nonetheless. And Balthier would be damned before he'd ever admit he'd been bested by the knight. He could bide his time and wait for Basch to leave, then demand an explanation – after all, she'd handed over the handkerchief as though it were some sort of invitation.

But then, why hadn't she told him she had a child? Perhaps she'd assumed that he would no longer be interested in her if he had known she'd borne a child. Or maybe she just decided it was none of his business? After all, their relationship had been nonexistent for the past several years – maybe she'd simply assumed that he would not care to know. And, he reflected, he probably _wouldn't_. Children were difficult, always complicating relationships. Would Penelo really be so receptive to welcoming him into her bed when she had a child to look after all day?

He downed his second pint rather quickly, then hit upon the deciding factor. Obviously, Basch and Penelo were as yet unmarried. She lived in Rabanastre and he lived in Archades. He'd given her no ring, no symbol of devotion, nothing. It seemed that the only thing they shared was a child.

And, if that was the case, if Basch had made no claim on her – well, then that made her fair game.

So she had a daughter. So that daughter happened to be Basch's. It was no business of Balthier's, and really, it wouldn't even be an issue. It wasn't like he'd be around so much during the child's waking hours, or even around much at all. Wanting Penelo in his bed had not changed his mind about relationships – he still had no interest in having a woman in his life in any permanent capacity. If she could accept that he did not desire any permanent attachment, there was no reason why he should have a problem with a child.

As long as she did not expect him to interact with her child – good god, whatever would he say? He knew of no conversation fit for a child's impressionable ears! And really, what mother would expect a casual lover to do so? – then there would be no issues at all. He could slip into Penelo's bedroom after the child was asleep and take his leave in the early hours of the morning.

His mind made up, he handed some gil over to the barkeep, then headed slowly back to Penelo's apartment. Night had fallen heavy across Rabanastre, shrouding the streets in shadows. He strode silently down the lane, lurking in the darkest parts of the walkway to avoid being spotted. Though a few lights had gone out in Penelo's apartment, he could yet hear the rumbling bass of Basch's voice through the walls, though he could not quite make out the words. He slipped into the shadows at the end of the walkway, resting silently and motionlessly against the cool bricks there.

Shortly thereafter, the front door opened and Basch stepped out.

"Thank you for dinner," he said. "It was wonderful."

"Thank you for joining us," Penelo replied warmly. "Ellie really enjoyed it. Come again, okay?"

_Ellie_. So their daughter's name was _Ellie_.

"I will," he said. "Lock your doors. I can be reached at The Sandsea if you have need of me."

"Okay," she said. "Good night, Basch."

He returned the parting comment, turning to leave, and she closed the door behind him. Balthier heard the soft _snick _of the lock engaging. He watched Basch's retreating figure until he was out of sight. Within, he could hear Penelo preparing for bed. One by one the lights flickered off.

All went quiet. He waited there in the shadows for a good twenty minutes longer, giving her plenty of time to fall asleep, lest it seem to her that he'd been doing exactly what he had been doing – lurking in hallways.

Then, quietly, he got out his lock pick and went to work on the front door.


	11. Chapter 11

_Warning: Chapter contains material of a graphic sexual nature._

The lock gave easily – he was torn between relief that there would be no struggle to gain entry to Penelo's home and the desire to chastise her for not ensuring that her home was better protected. He slipped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the greater darkness in the interior of the apartment. No sounds came from within – hopefully the apartment's two occupants slept soundly and would not awaken at any noise he might make.

Even to his unaccustomed eye, it was obvious a child was in residence – a couple of toys sat out, forgotten, on the floor. A small china tea service rested upon a table, with a few dolls gathered around it, enjoying with solemnity their midnight tea party. A few sloppily created drawings and paintings graced their refrigerator. He could imagine them being hung with great pomp and ceremony. Certainly Penelo would treat her daughter far differently than his parents had treated him…but then, she had always been a warm, affectionate sort of person. She was nothing at all like his own cold, heartless mother and cruel, uncaring father.

He headed down the hall, narrowly avoiding treading upon some discarded toys left there. He reached for the doorknob of the first door he came upon, twisting it softly, relieved to find it made no sound at it turned. He pushed the door open – the well-oiled hinges made no betraying noise heralding his entry.

There was a large bed in one corner of the room, and in it lay Penelo, curled on her side, one fist tucked beneath her chin and the other thrust beneath her pillow. Her bright hair lay in charming disarray over the pillows, and one leg was resting bare, unconcealed by the covers as though she had grown too warm beneath them and kicked them off. Her nightgown was twisted about her hips, revealing a pair of pink cotton panties that were arousing despite being designed for practicality rather than to be sensually appealing.

He wondered what he ought to do, how he ought to wake her – he certainly didn't want to frighten her. He decided on discarding his vest, shirt, and boots, then settled on the bed beside her. She stirred just a little as his weight caused the mattress to dip. Turning onto his side, he swept her hair away from her face, nudging her shoulder a bit, encouraging her to roll onto her back. She sighed a little as she did so, turning her face to the side and resting her hands across her stomach. Carefully he moved them, setting to work on the small buttons down the front of her gown.

Swatting at his hands as if they were bothersome insects, she turned back onto her side – and the nightgown slipped off her shoulders, exposing the smooth swells of her breasts to the soft moon glow that filtered through the window.

He paused, drinking in the sight of her posed there, so innocently seductive. It had been so long since she had last been in his bed – he'd once resolved never to see her again, and yet just now, when her image filled his head, pushing out all other wearying thoughts and worries, he couldn't for the life of him remember why. Then, slowly, he bent to kiss the exposed column of her throat.

He could feel the soft beat of her pulse beneath his lips. Gently he slid one arm beneath her pillows, lowering himself beside her in a more comfortable position, easing a trail of soft kisses up the smooth skin of her throat. She made a soft, sleepy sound and her hands came up to grasp his shoulders as she tipped back her head to give him better access. She wasn't quite awake – rather, she clung to the remnants of her dream world and remained warm, soft and pliable. But he wanted her awake and alert, even if it meant a return to her usual frustrating, impertinent self. He shifted her onto her back once again, and stroked his fingers along the peak of one soft, full breast. It hardened immediately, drawing into a tight, perfect little bud.

Her eyelids fluttered, lashes slowly lifting to reveal sleepy blue-grey eyes. She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment as if she could not quite understand who he was or why he was in her bedchamber. Then she gasped, jackknifing up in bed.

"What are you _doing _here?" she cried. He eased her back down against the pillows, shushing her when she would have made some other exclamation.

"You will wake the child," he cautioned softly.

The breath left her lungs on a soft _whoosh_. "You…you know about her?" she asked breathlessly.

He shrugged. "I saw the three of you through the window."

"The three…oh. Basch," she murmured.

"I must admit," he said, somewhat regretfully, "I never imagined that you would find Basch appealing enough to have an intimate relationship with. He seems a bit too stolid for you. Does he come often to visit with your daughter?"

"O-occasionally," she said. "When he can get away."

His jaw tautened – for some reason, he did not like the idea of Basch being around Penelo, even if only 'occasionally'.

"When he does visit," he began, shifting a little so that he was braced half over her, "do you invite him into your bed?"

"What? No!" She gasped, affronted. "We don't have that kind of relationship. A-anymore," she clarified hastily.

"So he comes to see his daughter, but not to warm your bed," he said thoughtfully. "Well, it is no matter to me, provided I find no one else in your bed when I come to you." He slipped his arms beneath her, arching her back just a little as he brushed his lips over her collarbone.

He was jealous, she realized – jealous of her 'relationship' with Basch!

"You're…not angry?"

"What right have I to judge you? Your child is none of my affair," he said.

She almost laughed – none of his affair, indeed! But she resisted the impulse – he'd invented a convenient explanation as to how she'd come to have a daughter, and she would not jeopardize it.

She shuddered as his lips brushed one peaked nipple, stifling a gasp at the sensation.

"Ah, Penelo," he sighed. "How is that even after bearing Basch a child, you still taste so innocent?" He caught her nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue over the taut peak.

She assumed the question was rhetorical and offered no answer. Rather, she threaded her fingers through his hair, giving herself up to the sensations he evoked. She hadn't been in a man's bed since Balthier had taken her virginity and given her a daughter five years before – hadn't even _wanted _this from anyone else. Sometimes she was quite afraid that she would end up old and alone, because if she couldn't have Balthier she didn't want anyone.

He eased her unbuttoned nightgown over her head, tossing it aside. His hands traced her body, finding subtle differences made by the passage of time – fuller breasts, gently rounded hips, longer legs. Even as a young woman, he'd found her lovely…but now, as a woman fully grown, he found her beautiful. Of course she would have had other lovers – how could she not? She was young and beautiful and full of life and energy. What hot-blooded man would turn up his nose at such a delectable offering?

She lifted her arms, twining them about his neck to drag him down for a kiss. Their lips met and clung, her breasts were crushed against his chest. He nipped her lower lip, sliding his tongue between her lips when she gasped. One of his hands cupped her hip, drawing her against him, and she could feel the rigid length of him through the heavy leather of his trousers.

She was making a mistake, and she knew it. It was exactly what Larsa had warned her about – if she slept with him now, he would just leave her again. Maybe he would come back, but it would never be to stay. He was not the sort to settle down. But she didn't care – she'd long ago decided that if this was all she'd ever have of Balthier, it would be enough. She would make it be enough.

She fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, hastily shoving them down his hips, then grasping him firmly in her small hand. He gasped, his breath coming hard and heavy near her ear. His hand closed around hers, moving her fingers up and down the hard length of him.

"I can't…I can't be gentle with you, this time," he bit out, his breath hissing from between his teeth. His free hand was fisted in the covers beside her head, and sweat was beading on his forehead. Strain was evident in every hard line of his body as he struggled to check his raging desires.

He cursed his wretched choice in trousers as he fought his way out of them. They flew out of sight, onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he turned, settling between her parted thighs. Her arms welcomed him there, her legs locked around his hips.

"It's okay," she murmured warmly, arching up to lay a tender kiss upon his jaw. "It's okay, Balthier." She didn't need special treatment or gentleness or whatever – she just needed him.

"I'm sorry," he said, already pushing inside her. Her inner muscles yielded slowly – she hadn't realized that her lack of sexual activity would make it so difficult to accommodate him. She shifted, struggling to relax beneath him even as he fought to forge a way within her.

"Damn, but you're still so tight inside," he murmured. "You've got to relax a bit, darling."

"I'm trying," she assured him, wincing as long-unused muscles protested the activity. "It's just…I haven't done this in a while."

He supposed that if she were out of practice, it could make it a little difficult for her to accommodate him. "How long has it been?"

She hesitated, discomfort making her dig her nails into his shoulders. "Not since…not since before Ellie was born."

He froze, still some inches from completing his entry. "Not at all?"

"No." Irritated with his lack of progress, she snapped, "_You _try pushing something the size of a watermelon out a hole the size of a lemon and tell me if you'd be eager to jump right back into the activity that got you in that condition in the first place." She shifted, raising her hips to take him deeper.

He chuckled at her heated statement, then slipped one hand beneath her hips, bringing her up to meet his thrust. His other hand he slipped down to where their bodies were joined, stroking her until he felt her body slowly begin to accept him. Carefully he retreated an inch or so, then forged farther ahead, repeating the slow process until finally their hips touched. She made a soft sound of relief, and he kissed her forehead.

"I might be a little rough with you, now," he said. "I promise I'll make up for it later." He drew out of her slowly, then sank back within her. Penelo gasped, the sensation of fullness was so extreme. Her head fell back, absorbing the feeling of him driving into her. He kissed his way up her throat, then took her ear lobe into his mouth, nipping it tenderly. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs stroking over the taut peaks almost apologetically.

Each hard thrust forced a tiny gasp from her throat – she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around him, and rode out his storm. Every quick downward plunge brushed the most sensitive part of her, bringing her closer and closer to her own climax. His hot breath near her ear made her shiver, and it took a moment to realize that he was actually speaking to her.

"Penelo." A soft kiss, on the delicate skin just behind her ear. "Say it." He cupped her hips, redoubling his efforts to reach satisfaction. "_Say _it," he insisted.

She knew what he was asking. Somehow, she knew. Though she couldn't imagine why he would want to hear it. She tightened her grip on him as his thrusts forced her into the throes of climax, clamping her legs tightly around him and digging her nails into his shoulders. She turned her face towards him, just a little, and, when she had regained her breath enough to speak, she whispered, "I love you."

He made a sound in his throat, something like satisfaction. "_Again_," he demanded hoarsely.

"I love you, Balthier," she whimpered. Her inner muscles still contracted around him, trying to force him into climax.

"_Yes_," he said, spending himself within her at last, chest heaving. "Yes." Perhaps she'd given Basch a child, but it was to Balthier that she'd given her love. It was a part of her that no one else would ever have, a part he could jealously hoard forever.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, drawing a sheet up over them as the night air cooled the sweat on their bodies. He drew her into the circle of his arms, pressing her head against his chest. Neither spoke of what had passed between them – Balthier because he was secure in the knowledge that even five years' desertion had not killed Penelo's love for him and Penelo because she was ashamed of what she had admitted to him.

--

Several hours later, Penelo woke from a light slumber. Balthier had not yet taken his leave, and the dawn light was just creeping through the window, but she knew that Ellie would be awake soon, and she did _not _want Balthier getting a good look at her – or even for Ellie to be exposed to Balthier.

She turned, nudging him until he stirred beside her.

"No more, woman," he groaned. "Can't you see that you've exhausted me? Give me a few hours' rest, first."

"You've got to go," she whispered. "Ellie will be awake soon. She'll come in to wake me up."

He waved his hand dismissively. "So lock the door."

She pinched him, irritated. "I'm not locking my daughter out of my room so that _you_ can get a little more sleep. You had plenty of time to sleep and you wasted it on…other things. Go sleep on the _Strahl_, I'm sure you've got it hidden close by."

He opened one eye, frowning. "You seriously intend to throw me out simply so your daughter does not find us in bed together?"

"Yes!" She crossed her arms across her chest. "If _you_ had a…" she faltered briefly, then forged on firmly, "If _you _had a child, you would understand."

He rolled out of bed, donning his trousers and thrusting his arms through the sleeves of his white shirt. He jerked on his boots and grabbed up the rest of his belongings in one hand. "If you _hadn't _had a child, this wouldn't be an issue!" He said.

"_What_?" Penelo gasped. She scrambled out of bed, hastily throwing on her nightgown, holding the unbuttoned top together with one hand. "_What _did you say?"

He opened the door angrily – it slammed against the wall. "You heard me. If you hadn't jumped immediately into bed with Basch, there would _be _no child to be concerned with!"

Behind him, a door opened and a small face peeked out, watching the drama unfold with wide eyes. "Mama?"

"Go back to bed, Ellie. I'll be there in a minute," Penelo said quickly, and Ellie obeyed, closing her door. Penelo pinned Balthier with a glare. "See what you've done!" She hissed. "Get out! Now!"

"With pleasure," he sneered, stalking towards the front door.

"And don't even _think _about coming back! If I never see you again, it will be too soon!" She snapped, trembling with pent-up rage.

"I didn't want to come in the first place!" He shouted. "I came only to return your handkerchief, at _your _invitation!" He fished the offending object from his pocket, thrusting it at her. "Take it, and I can be on my way at once – I wouldn't set foot in this godforsaken city of my own accord, of that you may be sure!"

He slammed the door behind him. Penelo slipped to the floor, swiping at her eyes, trying to stop the flow of helpless tears. "Bastard," she muttered.

--

It had been several hours since that unpleasant altercation, and Balthier could not imagine why he had not yet left Rabanastre. He didn't even _like _the city, and yet he'd spent the last few hours browsing the busy marketplace.

Perhaps, he mused, he'd been a little harsh earlier. Obviously a mother would easily become defensive when her child was the issue of the hour. And really, there was no call for him to be quite so irritated that Penelo would not want her daughter to see him. He'd expected as much.

It was reasonable for him to be jealous of Basch – for a time, the man had displaced him in Penelo's affections. Even if she'd never really given him her love, she'd given him her body – and to Balthier, that amounted to much the same thing. It was _unreasonable _for him to be jealous of Penelo's child. The girl had a right to Penelo's love and undivided attention, and unless Balthier intended to become Penelo's husband – which he did not – he had only so much right to her love and attention as she chose to give him, and no right at all to be irritated that her child received more.

If he wanted anything of Penelo at all – and he did; at least, he wanted her nights – then he was going to have to learn how to share her with her daughter. An unfortunate turn of events, as Balthier was quite unused to sharing _anything_.

And what was worse, it seemed that if he wished to be welcomed back into her bed, he would actually have to apologize – something he was perhaps even worse at than _sharing_.

Why he was actually considering investing so much time into Penelo when there were many other beautiful, willing, _childless _women in Ivalice was beyond him – though he suspected it had something to do with the unfamiliar feeling that welled within his chest whenever she said she loved him. About her he knew two things were absolutely true – she did genuinely love him, and she had no desire to tie him down. She would not make demands of him because she knew it was not in his nature to give in to them. Perhaps it was because she understood him so well that he was willing to make his apologies and bend to her wishes.

"I don't like you."

The soft statement jerked him from his pensive reverie. "Hmm?" He looked down – there, beside him was a little girl, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, glaring up at him.

"You were mean to my mama. You shouted at her," the child said.

"I most certainly did not," he retorted, wondering what had possessed the chit to address him and where in the world its mother had gone off to. He did not recognize the child as Penelo's daughter – having only seen her once, briefly.

"You did, too. You made her cry!" This was accompanied by a fierce frown and a fiery glare from those sharp green eyes. She tilted her stubborn little chin up at him, planting her small hands on her hips.

"I don't make women cry," he responded. "Now, run along and find your mother. I don't like children."

"I don't like mean, ugly old men!" she shot back.

"Ugly! Old! Why, you little…"

"Ellie!" Basch burst through the crowd. "You know better than to run off like that. You've worried your mother terribly! She brought someone to see you, and then she found that you'd run off...well, we'd best get you back to her." His gaze darted to Balthier speculatively. "_You _should not be here," he said. "Come, Ellie. We'll go find your mother."

"You should keep track of your daughter better," Balthier responded, unable to resist one last chance to poke at Basch. "Rabanastre isn't the safest of cities."

Though Basch said nothing, Ellie piped up immediately. "Sir Gabranth isn't my papa," she said.

"He's not?" The information startled Balthier – why had Penelo let him think Basch was Ellie's father, were it not the truth? What motivation had she to lie to him?

"No," she said. "I don't have a papa."

"Everyone has a father," he responded.

"_I_ don't," she said, looking at him as though he were quite stupid.

Before he could ask Basch if he knew anything about Ellie's mysterious father, another voice rang through the crowd.

"Ellie! Ellie, come here!" Penelo called from a few yards away. At once Ellie dropped Basch's hand, running towards her mother.

"You scared me," Penelo chastised, "you _know_ you're not to be running off whenever you feel like it!"

"I'm sorry, Mama," Ellie said. "It's just that I saw that mean man and I wanted…" she trailed off with a gasp of delight. "Uncle Larsa!" Ellie wriggled away from Penelo's grasp to run over to Larsa, who scooped her into his arms for a hug.

"_Uncle Larsa_?" Balthier questioned, disgusted by both the name and the display. Basch ignored him, turning his back on Balthier to go and greet his lord.

"You came to visit me!" Ellie said, linking her arms around his neck. "You came! I'm so happy!"

"Of course I came," he said, tapping her nose. Larsa's smile faded as he turned slightly and noticed Balthier watching the events unfolding from a few yards away. Penelo caught his gaze, following it. The color drained from her face – she couldn't decide what was more upsetting – the fact that he'd probably gotten a good look at Ellie, or the likelihood that he'd want to resume the morning's altercation in front of Larsa _and _Ellie.

Slowly he crossed the distance between them. Ellie watched silently, frowning at him.

"Basch isn't her father," he said. "Why did you lie?"

"I didn't lie," she defended immediately. "You assumed Basch was her father and I just…saw no real need to correct you."

"If it's not Basch, who is it?" He didn't understand his desire to know who had fathered Penelo's child, but the curiosity was overwhelming.

"I don't _have _a papa," Ellie insisted mutinously, glaring from the safety of Larsa's arms. "I told you already!"

For the first time, he registered the fact that her eyes were a brilliant green – the same green of…of…he didn't dare finish the thought. Hoping for a denial, his gaze flickered between Penelo, who looked exceedingly guilty and Larsa, who wore an expression of smug satisfaction.

Dear god, _that _was why Larsa had been so certain that Penelo would want nothing to do with him – she hadn't wanted him to discover the existence of his child!

The same child that glowered at him hatefully, while her arms were twined around Larsa's neck.

He felt the overwhelming urge to strike the younger man for looking so smug and self-satisfied, secure in the knowledge that Balthier's daughter hated her own father.

"_Damn_." It was the only thing he could think of to say – he couldn't very well launch into a tirade in the center of the marketplace, and he didn't want to alarm the child.

"She's _mine_," Penelo said fiercely. "I carried her, I raised her, you…you were nothing more than a sperm donor. You don't even _like _children!"

It was true enough – Balthier had no particular love of children. They were loud and dirty and obnoxious. He didn't even think he'd make a very good father. _His _father had been a wretched example of a parent, and Balthier was in no great rush to repeat the process which had been so detestable to his own father.

"You ought to have told me," he said. His face shuttered into the cool, composed mask he was so used to wearing. It was so easy to pretend he wasn't bothered by the thought of suddenly being a father when he was acting the part of the sky pirate.

Angrily, she gestured wildly. "_How_? I saw nothing of you for five entire years! Would you _really _have made it that simple to track you down?" She bit back an angry, frustrated sob. "Besides, it doesn't matter. You'll never have to play father. I'm…I'm going to marry Larsa."


	12. Chapter 12

"What ails you, that I find you in such a sorry state?"

Balthier turned his head slightly towards Fran's voice, and the room spun crazily. He was glad to see that the copious amount of Bhujerban madhu was having its desired effect. With all that had happened so recently – the discovery of Penelo's daughter, the discovery of _his _daughter, and Penelo's abrupt and unanticipated declaration – Balthier felt as though he'd been dropped into some bizarre alternate reality that, below the surface, bore little resemblance to the one from which he'd arrived. It had all felt very much like a dream.

He snorted. A dream? More like a nightmare, and a wretched one indeed.

"_Balthier_."

"What? Oh. Fran. Right." He set down his mug, and the liquid sloshed over the rim of his cup, coating his fingers. Damn Penelo, she'd driven him to drink _twice _in as many days!

With a baleful glance, Fran lifted the mug from the counter, thrusting it back over at the bartender. "He'll have no more this eve," she said stonily. The bartender, several inches shorter than the Viera, took the mug meekly, shoving a plate of biscuits and a mug of what looked suspiciously like coffee at Balthier in lieu of liquor.

Scowling down at his new beverage, Balthier tore into a biscuit, stuffing half of it in his mouth. It seemed with the ingestion of alcohol both his impeccable manners and his predilection for using them had floated right out the window.

"I can't believe you had me cut off," he groused, insulted at Fran's temerity.

"You have had quite enough to remain in a state of inebriation for several hours, I suspect," she retorted indelicately, "and you reek of liquor. You sent for me, yet you have yet to tell me why you did so."

"I needed someone to…" He came to the unfortunate realization that his tongue wouldn't quite perform the way he wished it to. Slurring was a new and troublesome thing, as he had seldom imbibed enough alcohol to become even mildly drunk – yet another thing the blame for which he could lay at Penelo's door. "I needed someone to help me make sense of this."

"Of what?" Clearly exasperated, Fran took a seat next to him.

He hesitated – where to begin? Should he begin his explanation at the real beginning, some years ago? Or should he simply jump right into the meat of his problems?

"Well…you see, as it turns out…I seem to have a daughter." He sounded baffled, even to himself.

Her head inclined gracefully as she nodded her understanding. "Elionora," she said.

"Yes, Ellie, she's…you _knew_?" Balthier jerked around so quickly he nearly lost his seat.

Fran averted her eyes. "In Archades a few days past, I came across Penelo in a corridor of the palace whilst searching for you. She held in her arms a small child, who carried your scent. That is when I discovered her existence," she said.

He remembered how troubled Fran had seemed at the time – in retrospect, she must have been wondering whether or not she ought to inform him that he had fathered a child, but she had ultimately decided not to, and _that _rankled. He had never imagined Fran would keep such a thing from him.

"Why did you not _tell _me?"

"It was not my place to interfere," she said. "Aside from that, Penelo requested that I keep my silence. I saw no reason not to do as she asked."

He wished he had another mug of madhu, already he was feeling like he wasn't quite drunk enough for this. "Suddenly, I have a child – who hates me, by the way, though she _adores_ Larsa. Whom little Penelo has decided to marry, it seems."

Fran's eyebrows rose. "Surprising, indeed. She has rejected him on more than one occasion."

"Well," he said bitterly, "this time she has accepted – and Larsa is under the impression that he will be raising my daughter as his own. Penelo has absolved me of all obligations. She, too, is of the opinion that Larsa should take the roll of father to _my_ daughter."

"Generous of him, to be willing raise another man's child," Fran said. "It is fortunate for you that Penelo makes no demands of you. Let someone else have the raising of the girl. You do not care for children, anyway."

"True, but…shouldn't it be different, if the child is your own?" He glanced over expectantly.

"Balthier," Fran said patiently. "You do not know this child. She may be biologically your issue, but she does not know you. She knows no father and would likely resist any overture you might make. Do not compel yourself to play father to a child you do not know simply because you want to prove yourself a better man than _your_ father. Inevitably you will hurt the child, who is an innocent in all this. The child requires that which you cannot give her – love. Leave her to the loving arms of her mother and forget about her."

He was afraid that Fran was correct – that his desire to see his daughter had more to do with proving he was not a man like his father than actually having an interest in the girl. Or worse, that he was motivated by his desire to take something from Larsa, who it seemed had come out the victor after all in their petty competition that was now no longer quite so petty.

But didn't he owe it to the child to show _some _interest in her life? After all, he'd missed a good portion of it already, no thanks to Penelo. What had she been thinking, keeping such a thing from him?

He took a sip of his coffee, and it hit him: she'd thought he wouldn't care. Obviously he hadn't cared enough to check in on her at all, and he'd walked away from her so easily. Why should she think he would care about the child she'd conceived?

He took another sip, somehow managing to disguise his disgust with the awful – if sobering – liquid. She must've been so afraid. Children were expensive…and to a girl with dreams she'd wanted to fulfill, it must've seemed like the end of the world. She must've had to put her dreams on hold for the sake of her child. How awful it must have been for her, being alone and frightened. And young. So very young – _too _young to be forced to manage such a thing by herself…not that she had had another alternative.

Although, now that he thought about it, she probably hadn't been so very alone – she'd had Vaan, Ashe, Basch, and Larsa at least for company. He couldn't imagine that any of them would have let Penelo come to any harm.

Still, he rationalized, it was cruel of him to find fault with her for failing to inform him that he'd fathered a child when he had gone to no great lengths to avoid the creation of one. She had been the innocent – she had trusted him to take care of her, and he had failed her. He had never considered the possibility of a child, had never bothered even to ask after her on the rare occasions he had come across a mutual acquaintance.

He owed her _something_. He had been careless, and as a result he had a child who did not know him and whose mother no longer wanted him around. He winced, recalling his earlier attack on Penelo – he'd been jealous of his own child, irritated that Penelo was a good, responsible parent. Perhaps he did not have it in him to be a good father, after all. Perhaps Fran was correct – he might very well be incapable of the selfless love a parent ought to have for a child, the love he was certain Penelo had for Ellie.

"Have you heard nothing I have said?" Fran asked.

"Every word," he replied. "However, the fact remains that I owe Penelo _something_. An apology, if nothing else. I seem to have become a master of shirking my obligations." He pushed back his chair, somewhat steadier on his feet, thanks to Fran's interference. "My thanks, Fran, for your assistance."

He handed some gil over to the bartender, and headed for the door.

--

At Penelo's apartment, Balthier did something he'd never felt compelled to do before…he _knocked_. Somehow, in light of the circumstances, it seemed prudent to be more respectful of her boundaries. He imagined she'd felt backed into a corner earlier in the marketplace – likely that was what had prompted her abrupt declaration. She'd fought back the only way she'd known how at the time, the only way she could be sure of striking at him. And with all the havoc he'd wrought already, he felt it more appropriate to go in peacefully and hopefully arrive at some sort of agreeable solution to their dilemma.

He pasted on what he hoped would pass for an apologetic smile, wondering if she would even admit him. Like as not she would take one look at him and slam the door shut in his face.

The door opened. Penelo's face fell when she saw him – she made to close the door just as he'd predicted, but he pressed his palm against it, stopping her.

"Don't. Please."

She sighed – a heavy, impatient sound. "What do you want, Balthier?"

"Just a few moments of your time. Perhaps to ask a few questions." He eased forward as she wavered uncertainly, slipping past her into the house. A stack of boxes sat against one wall. Several articles of furniture had been removed from the room. He frowned. "What is going on, here?"

"We're packing," she said, shutting the door behind him.

"Clearly. Why?"

"Larsa thought it would be best if Ellie and I relocated to Archades immediately. It would allow several months' transition time before we marry. It will be good for Ellie, to give her time to adjust." She folded her arms. "I'm busy, as you can see. What did you want ask?"

So, already Larsa was removing her from Rabanastre, effectively limiting his ability to reach her. He certainly had wasted no time.

"Ellie. Does she know anything about me?"

"No. I've never told her, and she's never asked. She's never suffered for want of a father. I don't intend to tell her about you, either," she said. "She has plenty of father-figures in her life already. She doesn't need you."

He winced – either she feared being displaced by him in her daughter's affections or she was still bitter about his lack of tact earlier in the day. Either way, he felt that she was entitled to her temper tantrum and in her volatile state of mind, he would rather not attempt to coax her out of her temper.

"Can I see her?"

"She's sleeping." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather you didn't, anyway. I don't want her to have a father who's never around. You can't just walk in and out of her life whenever you please. She's a child, not a toy or some other minor amusement. She needs stability, and you can't give her that. It's better that she never know you at all."

"Better for you, perhaps." He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "Imagine for a moment, Penelo, that _you _had just discovered the existence of your child – and that such a thing had been willfully kept from you for years. Perhaps you had your reasons for doing so, and I can hardly fault you for them, but likewise am _I _entitled to my shock and surprise. I realize I handled the situation poorly, and for that I do apologize –"

"_Poorly_? You _cursed _at her and walked off!"

"I did not curse at her, I damned the situation and spent the next few hours getting exceedingly drunk at the local tavern. Forgive me for not being particularly thrilled over the fact that Larsa intends to raise my child as his own and I have little say in the matter. After spending the night in your bed, yes, perhaps your _happy _news was just a little more shock than I was equipped to handle at that point in time. I had not expected to be forced to compete for your affections quite so quickly as that." He was aware that anger colored his tone, but he could not seem to help but enlighten her as to the depths of his displeasure over her desertion.

"My affections?" she scoffed. "You've never competed for my affections, Balthier. You just wanted me in your bed. Call a spade a spade."

The last thread of his control snapped, having been plucked at too many times by her sharp tongue. He whipped around, backing her up against the nearest wall. She gave a tiny, startled cry at finding herself so quickly and neatly blocked in. Her hands came up, an automatic self-defense movement designed to break his nose. She'd learned a few things over the years, not the least of which was how to protect herself – but he effortlessly blocked the movement, capturing her wrists in one hand.

"Fool," he mocked. "You're years too young and inexperienced to try that silly trick on me. I've forgotten more about combat than you're ever likely to learn."

"H-how…"

"Did you truly think I'd grown _that _useless over the years?" he jeered. "In Nalbina, I was exhausted and half-starved. You may have learned a few new techniques, but you're still worlds away from taking me on. Your overconfidence could get you killed someday."

"Let go," she said between gritted teeth.

"When I've impressed upon you the seriousness of your folly," he retorted, bending his head. His lips crushed hers in a bruising kiss. She knew he meant it as a punishment, and it infuriated her to be so treated by him, so she took her revenge in the only way she could – she bit him. He jerked back, a tiny droplet of blood clinging to his lower lip, his eyes narrowed. He wiped at it, staring incredulously at the blood on his fingertips. She glared at him mutinously.

"Bloodthirsty wench," he muttered, and bent towards her again. She turned her face aside, but he didn't try to kiss her lips again. Instead he nuzzled her cheek for a moment, then nipped her earlobe – not hard enough to draw blood or even hurt her, but enough so that she couldn't help the gasp that leapt from her throat.

"I am a firm believer in reciprocation," he said, "you'll get back what you give – fair warning, dearest." His lips caressed her cheek, then moved up her jaw towards her lips. "Will you bite me again, I wonder?" There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and she felt one of his warm hands cover hers.

She hadn't even realized that he'd released her wrists until he'd laid his hand over the one she'd placed over his chest. Her nails had curled into the fabric of his shirt – instead of pushing him away as she ought to be doing, she was keeping him close. The protest that sprung to her lips was silenced before it was even spoken as his lips touched hers again, as gentle as his previous kiss had been aggressive.

She was confused by his kiss – even though she sensed he was angry or at the very least frustrated with her, he was almost tender now in his handling of her. It seemed almost apologetic in nature, but definitely it was soft and warm and affectionate. She wondered if he was trying to tell her that he really did care for her at least a little.

The coppery taste of his blood lingered on her tongue even after he'd broken the kiss. His expression was inscrutable as he slowly moved away, allowing her to gain a little distance from him.

No longer caught in the heat of the moment, Penelo was ashamed of what she'd let him do. "Don't…don't do that again," she said.

He gave her an inquiring glance. "Do you really intend to wed Larsa?"

"I-I do." She didn't feel comfortable talking about it with him – partly because she'd made the declaration out of anger and desperation, not out of any desire for Larsa, and she feared he knew.

He shook his head. "You will be exchanging one set of problems for another," he cautioned. "Larsa yet has enemies, and many will be discontent that he would choose to wed with a commoner, especially if he intends, as I suspect, to make your daughter his heir. You will be in harm's way, under constant surveillance. It is not the sort of life for you, Penelo, and you will learn it too late."

She turned away, afraid he would read her fear in her face. She knew all that he had told her already, and the thought of it all terrified her. "It's none of your affair," she said.

"You neither love nor desire Larsa," he continued ruthlessly. "As long as you love me, the both of you will be cheated of a happy marriage. Is that how you wish to live? Married to one while in love with another? I don't imagine Larsa would happily admit me into his home. If you marry him, it is very likely we will never meet again." His hands settled on her shoulders, and she stiffened. "Penelo, this morning, before that mismanaged scene in the marketplace, I had intended to return here to make my apologies. I said things I never should have, and I do regret them."

"It doesn't matter." Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "I'm marrying Larsa."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders, frustration evident in his voice. "But you love _me_."

"It's not enough." She swiped angrily at her eyes. "It's not _enough _for me to love you. I thought it would be…I thought I could be content with just that. With whatever you would give me. But it's not enough for me, and Ellie deserves better than a father who waltzes in and out of her life like an inconstant wind. I'll get over loving you…it's never gotten me anywhere, anyway."

He heard the resolution in her voice – and despite it, he knew if he pressed a little further she would give in to him and admit him to her bed once again. But she would likely despise him for doing so, for taking shameless advantage of her weakness.

He didn't enjoy seeing her so upset – clearly she was uncomfortable and emotional, so he deliberately let the matter drop. It would do him no good to force her to confront her issues at the present time; she had already made up her mind on the matter. She needed time on her own to realize that she would be making a mistake.

"May I see Ellie?" he asked.

"But i-it's so late…she's –"

"Penelo." He caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. "Would you truly deny me the right to see my own child, even just for a moment? I won't wake her. I just want to see her."

He saw the indecision in her eyes – she didn't want to. But she bit her lip, and motioned for him to follow her down the hallway. She turned the handle of a door midway down the hall and opened the door halfway, allowing a bit of light to enter the room. It fell across a small bed in which lay their daughter, her face smooth and relaxed in sleep, long, dark lashes resting on her cheeks, shielding the eyes that were so like Balthier's.

He looked on the sleeping child and felt – nothing. No overwhelming sense of love, no devotion, nothing remotely fatherly. Bitterly, he realized Fran had been right after all. He did not love the girl. He _could _not love the girl. He could not claim to Penelo that he would take an active role in the child's life when it was apparent to him now that he would be as miserable a father as his own father had been. Perhaps it would be better, after all, to let Larsa raise the girl. Certainly it would be kinder.

But he realized he had lost his one bargaining chip. Without some sort of commitment to her daughter, Penelo would marry Larsa, and be lost to him forever. And Balthier felt no connection to the girl whatsoever. She was just a child – admittedly, she was a pretty child, which would likely get her into a great deal of mischief at a later date – but he could not say he cared anything about her.

"She looks like you," he mused.

"When she's angry, she looks like you. And when she pouts," she returned softly. Slowly she closed the door, twisting the handle gently so as not to disturb the sleeping child. She noted his troubled expression with some unease. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, but his eyes were dark and disturbed. "Nothing at all. I have decided that you were right – I am far too unreliable to be a father, and so I will leave her, undisturbed, in your capable hands. Doubtless you and Larsa shall do a fine job of raising her, just as you have until now. I wish you luck and happiness." He bent to kiss her cheek fondly. "And so, darling, this is goodbye."

And Penelo could only watch as he made his way calmly to the door, stepped through it, closed it softly behind him, and walked out of her life.

Again.


	13. Chapter 13

"You look pensive," Larsa observed casually, as he entered Penelo's receiving room. She was perched on a platform, holding as still as possible while she underwent the first of many fittings for her wedding gown. Though she would have preferred something much simpler, with a marriage of state one did not always get what one wanted – and Penelo would be forced to endure a ridiculously large formal wedding. Though the dress was lovely, it made her feel uncomfortably like a child playing dress-up in her mother's things.

"Oh, well, you know," she sighed. "I've been standing here for an hour." She fidgeted a little, earning herself a jab in the back by one of the seamstresses.

"_Do_ stand up straight, my lady, or this gown will not fit correctly," the woman chastised.

Penelo winced. "I'm sorry, it's just that these shoes pinch my toes and make my back hurt."

"They are necessary to ensure the fit of your gown," the seamstress said, censure evident in her voice, as though she thought Penelo unworthy to become Larsa's bride if she could not make it through a single fitting without incident.

"I'm sorry," Penelo repeated, looking so miserable that Larsa felt guilty. After all, it was because of his status that Penelo had to suffer through that which was obviously so detestable to her.

"I think that will be enough for today," he said.

The seamstress gaped at him. "But, my lord, we have yet to finish pinning the hem…"

He waved dismissively. "It can wait. There are still some months left, plenty of time for all that. You may schedule another appointment with my fiancée's personal attendant on your way out."

"Very well." The woman was wise enough to know when she ought to give up. She escorted Penelo behind a privacy screen, neatly stripping off the heavy dress. Penelo struggled back into her normal clothing on her own as the seamstresses filed out of the room.

"I thought perhaps we'd have lunch together," he said. "We could take it in the nursery with Ellie, if you like."

Penelo brightened visibly – for the past month she and Ellie had been living in the palace, but though they shared the same set of apartments, Ellie's nursemaid took charge of her each day from early morning until bedtime. The time that Penelo had previously devoted to her daughter now was spent in meetings with foreign dignitaries, formal dinners, long, boring treaty negotiations, and meeting with chefs, designers and florists for the planning of their upcoming wedding. Suddenly she saw almost nothing of her child, who was often asleep long before Penelo returned to their rooms. It hurt something inside of her to know that some other woman was watching Ellie grow – a nursemaid was sharing in all the special moments of Ellie's life, moments that rightfully belonged to Penelo.

"That would be wonderful," she said.

"Let's be off, then." Larsa held out his hand, and Penelo set hers in his. "Send a message to the kitchens," he said to the attendant waiting discreetly by the door. "Tell them we intend to dine in the nursery, and request that lunch for three be served there in a half an hour's time."

"Of course, my lord." The man sketched a bow, and left to do as Larsa bid. Though his personal attendant was off on an errand, a lesser servant stepped into his place the moment they stepped out of the room, keeping a distance of a few yards behind them to allow the Emperor and his intended some illusion of privacy while still remaining within earshot lest they require something.

Penelo still had not grown used to the constant supervision – her personal attendant woke her in the mornings and followed her all day, keeping track of appointments and urging Penelo along to the next meeting or planning session from early morning until late at night. The strain was beginning to wear on her – she was constantly exhausted and frequently cranky. She sincerely hoped that once she and Larsa were married, things would slow down a bit…or she feared she might very well go insane.

A servant standing outside of the nursery opened the door when he saw Larsa and Penelo approaching. They entered the large common room and passed through to the nursery – Penelo felt it was too extravagant for such a young child, and Ellie really had no need of so much space or quite so many toys. But Larsa had insisted on making the transition from small, cozy apartment to large, spacious palace as attractive as possible, and it seemed he had accomplished that by buying out the entire stock of a toy store or two.

"Mama!" Ellie, who had been serving tea to a plethora of dolls gathered about a small table, hiked up her skirts and raced to the door. "Uncle Larsa! I missed you!"

Penelo's heart wrenched – they lived together, and Ellie _missed _them. "I'm sorry I've been so busy, honey," she said past the lump in her throat. "Can we have lunch with you today?"

"Yes, please," Ellie said. "Nanny is very nice, but she never lets me play with my mashed potatoes." She made a face. "_And _she makes me have a nap. But I never nap," she added in a conspiratorial whisper. "I just play quiet when she leaves so she won't scold me."

"Oh, do you?" Penelo couldn't bring herself to scold the child herself, though she knew she ought to. The doors opened, and a few servants entered carrying trays of food. One spread a linen table cloth over the child-sized table in the middle of the room; another set down china and silverware. A third served drinks, and uncovered large silver trays, revealing far more food than three people could possibly eat.

Thought Penelo would have preferred serving herself, she allowed the servants to perform their duties – and those included serving the food to all parties. Ellie nibbled lightly at her lunch, unnerved by the array of servants standing silently nearby, awaiting requests.

"Mama," she whispered, "why are they watching us eat? Are they hungry, too?"

Penelo thought she saw the lips of a nearby servant twitch as he tried to repress a smile. "No, Ellie. They're performing their duties. People work in this house, remember?"

"Oh." She stuck her fork into her mound of mashed potatoes, digging a small hole into which she flicked a cluster of green peas. "I forgot." She buried the peas under another mound of mashed potatoes, then topped her masterpiece with a piece of grilled asparagus. "Mama, will you read me a story tonight?"

Penelo glanced at Larsa, who shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he said. "But your mama and I have an important meeting tonight with some of my advisors."

"Oh. Can I come, too?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, darling," he replied. "It will be a frightfully boring meeting. I'm sure Nanny will have many more fun things for you to do together."

Ellie's face fell. "Okay," she said. Penelo's heart ached – she could hear the dejection and disappointment in Ellie's voice.

They passed the rest of the meal in silence, and when the time came for Penelo and Larsa to leave the nursery, Ellie murmured only a melancholy, mechanical goodbye.

--

Balthier pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing his headache would just go away. Unfortunately, said headache came in the form of Penelo's childhood friend, Vaan, who seemed to be following him everywhere. He'd abandoned Balfonheim a full two days earlier than he'd expected he would when he'd noticed he had gained a follower. Since then, Vaan had tracked him to Bhujerba, Nalbina, the Phon Coast, Mt. Bur-Omisace, and even back to Rabanastre. Though he had successfully avoided the persistent younger man up until this point, he knew his luck would not hold out forever.

"Oi," the tavern owner called as he dropped onto into a chair. "Vaan was askin' after ye."

"I'll just bet he was," Balthier growled. Could not the boy take a hint and realize that Balthier wished to be left alone? Would he have to spend a few days in the wilderness simply to evade him?

He grabbed a quick bite to eat, just on the off chance that Vaan frequented the same tavern. He needed to leave the city quickly if he intended to remain undiscovered by Penelo's erstwhile best friend, but he stopped briefly in the marketplace to stock up on some necessities before heading back to the _Strahl_.

Laden with bags, he boarded the _Strahl _and headed for the storeroom. As he made to turn the doorknob, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Surprise etched on his features, he turned – Vaan stood just behind him, wearing an irritated expression and aiming his gun at Balthier's head.

Balthier's eyes narrowed. "Would you mind letting me set these down before blowing my brains out?" he asked, indicating the bags. "It'd make such a mess and be quite a waste."

"By all means." The gun never wavered. Balthier set the bags on the floor and closed the door to the storeroom, more than a little pissed off at failing to recognize the signs of someone else on his ship – and failing to have security measures advanced enough to have kept Vaan out in the first place.

"So," Balthier began. "You've been a thorn in my side for weeks, now. You might as well get whatever it is off your chest so that I may be about my business."

Vaan was more than happy to oblige him.

"She's your kid; take responsibility," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's _your _kid," Vaan repeated stiffly. "Penelo's going to marry Larsa if you don't do something, and _your _kid is going to be miserable."

Balthier snorted – how had Vaan arrived at such a ridiculous conclusion? "Penelo _wants _to marry Larsa, and her daughter far prefers Larsa to me. I fail to understand how their affairs are any of my business."

"It's your business because you have a responsibility to Ellie, and it's about time you started living up to it. She's scared and unhappy, since suddenly Penelo has no time for her – and if Penelo actually goes through with it and marries Larsa, it'll probably be that way forever." He gestured to a chair with the gun, directing Balthier to sit.

"It's Penelo's decision. If she wants to marry Larsa –"

"She _doesn't _want to marry Larsa," Vaan said in exasperation. "She's going to make herself and Ellie miserable thinking that Larsa can give Ellie something that you're not man enough to give her. In the meantime, she's undergoing torturous days spent doing all the things she loathes that will likely continue in perpetuity and being separated from her daughter because her busy schedule no longer allows for time spent with Ellie. She's given up on everything she loves. The least you could do is see your daughter. She's scared and alone. She needs you."

"She doesn't need _me_," Balthier scoffed. "She needs someone who actually _cares_ for her. She's biologically my child, but I feel nothing for her." He was hoping shock the youth with his callous lack of consideration for his own flesh and blood.

"Because she's a stranger to you," Vaan retorted hotly. "You haven't even _tried _to get to know her, to learn anything about her."

Balthier's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You don't think it's cruel that I don't love my own child?"

Vaan's brow furrowed in confusion, complete bafflement written across his face. "How could you love someone you've never met? Love doesn't just happen because you think it _ought _to."

"I see." Balthier, who had never truly loved anything in his life, had no concept of what it entailed or how it functioned. If what Vaan had said was true, then perhaps the lack of instant love for his daughter was less damning than he'd imagined. Perhaps it could even be considered…normal. And if it were normal, it might be a sign that he had not ended up as twisted as his own father.

"What if _she _doesn't like _me_? The last I saw of her, she looked like she'd prefer having teeth pulled to spending time in my company," Balthier said.

Vaan rolled his eyes. "She's four years old – if you make an effort to talk with her, if you play games with her, she'll definitely like you. Especially now, as she's starved for attention."

Something in Balthier identified with the child – he, too, had been left to the care of nursemaids by parents who were far too busy for their son. Though he had never had his parents' love and devotion and therefore had not missed that which he had never had to begin with, he could understand how such a transition from adored child to afterthought might make a child confused and angry.

"She'll be in the palace, and well-guarded," he mused thoughtfully – but he had always enjoyed a challenge and a good intrigue. Such a caper suited his interests.

Vaan shrugged. "I can get you in; the guards won't bother me. Penelo and Larsa shouldn't be any trouble, since they spend the majority of their time in meetings."

"Good. I do have a favor to ask of you," Balthier said.

"Hmm?"

"Now that we've reached an agreement of sorts, perhaps you could be prevailed upon to stop aiming that thing at my head?" Balthier suggested, irritated.

"What? Oh." Vaan tucked the weapon into its holster, a guilty flush suffusing his face with color. "Sorry about that."

--

Balthier was rather pleased to discover that Vaan had been correct; getting into the Palace had never been easier. Because the guards recognized Vaan and let him pass without incident, so, too, was Balthier admitted.

He did his best to commit the directions through the corridors to memory, though he suspected it would take him more than a few visits to successfully do so.

"It's about time for her nap," Vaan said. "You'll probably want to avoid the nursery, since that's the nursemaid's territory, and I don't think she'll ever let you in alone. But once Ellie's in her room for her nap, the nursemaid will leave her for an hour or two. That will be the best time to visit with her."

"I don't think she'd appreciate me interrupting her nap," Balthier said hesitantly.

"You're joking. She considers herself _far _too old for naps," Vaan responded. He turned down a corridor and paused before a large door. "You'll need to brush up on your magic," he cautioned. "If I'm not with you, you're not likely to get far within the palace. Vanish would be your best bet."

Balthier knew where he could obtain the necessary magicks – but he'd never been terribly good with spells. Ah, well – no time like the present to learn.

Vaan directed Balthier to stay out of sight, then knocked on the door before them. A young woman answered it, smiling when she recognized Vaan. "Sir. I'm afraid Miss Elionora is napping at the moment, perhaps you could return at a later time…?"

"Unfortunately I'm only in town for an hour or so," Vaan replied. "I was hoping I could have just a little while – I'm not sure when I'll next be in town, and I would hate to miss seeing her while I'm here." He smiled, easing closer. "Surely an hour wouldn't be too much to ask," he coaxed.

"Well…" the nursemaid hesitated. "I suppose…if it's just for an hour."

"I'm in your debt." Vaan kissed her fingers. "Would you be so kind as to fetch a tray of tea, and maybe some cookies? I'm famished."

The woman bobbed a curtsey. "Right away, sir." She hurried off towards the kitchens. Balthier came out of hiding, applauding silently as Vaan ushered him through the door and into the room.

"Nicely done," Balthier said. "I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Vaan shut the door behind them, grinning. "I learned from you. She won't be occupied terribly long, so let's hurry."

He crossed the common room, passed through the nursery, which Balthier noted was littered with a staggering amount of toys, and pulled open a door at the other end of the room. Though it was dark within, a streak of white slipped by, jumping into the bed, clearly seeking to avoid being caught at playing when she ought to have been napping.

"Nice try, Ellie," Vaan said. Immediately a small blonde head popped up from the pillow.

"Vaan!" She leapt out of the bed, her white nightgown swirling around her bare feet as she ran towards him. A few feet away, she noticed Balthier lingering in the doorway behind Vaan, and paused warily.

"_You're_ not supposed to be here," she said petulantly. "My mama and Uncle Larsa don't like you."

"Ellie," Vaan rebuked. "Be nice."

"_He's _not nice," she countered saucily. "He said _damn _and made my mama cry."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to make your mama cry," Vaan replied. "He's really very…um, nice."

Balthier rolled his eyes at Vaan's pathetic attempt at a defense. "Vaan said you were lonely and so I came with him to visit you," he said to Ellie. "But if you want me to go, I will."

She glanced between him and Vaan doubtfully.

"If he leaves, I'll have to leave," Vaan told her. "He brought me on his airship. We came together, so we'll have to leave together."

"You have an airship, too?" Her eyes widened a fraction, clearly awed by the revelation.

"I do." Balthier offered no more information – if the child wanted to know something, she would ask.

Still she hesitated – torn between the desire for Vaan's company and the unwillingness to suffer through Balthier's. Finally, she arrived at her decision. "You can stay," she said. "But I _still _don't like you."

"I'm not so fond of _you_, either," he snapped back.

Infuriated, Ellie stomped on his foot.

Balthier bit back a curse. "Ouch! You little she-demon…"

"_Children_," Vaan interrupted, sliding between the two.

"He started it!"

"She stepped on my foot!"

"I don't care _who _started it, _I'm _finishing it," Vaan growled. "You two are exactly alike; that's probably why you rub each other the wrong way."

Balthier noticed Ellie's lips purse and her eyes narrow and wondered if she had actually realized the significance of the scene she had witnessed in the marketplace a month or so ago.

"Now – are we going to have any further incidents?" Vaan looked down at Ellie, who dug her toes into the plush carpet and stared down at the floor.

"No, sir," she mumbled.

"Balthier?"

Balthier gritted his teeth, resenting being treated like a child. "No," he answered.

"Good." Vaan smiled down at Ellie. "What do you want to do, then?"

Brightening, she took Vaan by the hand and dragged him across the room towards a veritable mountain of toys. "Let's play, Vaan!" She rooted around through the toys, eventually coming up with a couple of model airships. "Here, you can be the _Bahamut_, and I'll be the _Strahl_ come to shoot you down!" The airships looked nothing like those they were intended to represent, but Vaan reached for one, nevertheless.

"That's not exactly the way it happened," Vaan protested, laughing.

"The _Strahl _doesn't have any weapons. She's a prototype airship designed with speed rather than combat in mind," Balthier added. It interested him that his child was so fascinated by airships – but then, perhaps it was in her blood. He wondered if Penelo had encouraged the child's interest in them.

"How would _you _know?" Ellie asked, defiantly.

"The _Strahl _belongs to me. I stole her from the Imperial army several years ago. They were going to destroy her, but I thought she was too beautiful to let that happen – so I took her." He knew that Penelo would likely not approve of telling the child such a thing. After all, thievery was nothing he ought to encourage the child to glamorize. But nor did he believe he would be doing right by the girl to lie to her, or even to sugar-coat the truth.

Ellie's face flushed with anger – whether at being corrected or discovering her beloved_ Strahl _to be owned and piloted by the one man in all of Ivalice she could not abide, he didn't know.

Suddenly she erupted into motion, throwing the model airship she was still clutching at Balthier's head, then turning and running for the door. At Vaan's sharp rebuke, she paused and turned, trembling with rage.

"You're lying!" she said furiously to Balthier. "You're mean and a liar and you're _not _my papa!"

Shocked by the vehemence with which the child spat the hateful words, Balthier could only watch as she fled into the nursery, with Vaan quick on her heels. Obviously, Vaan would want to calm the child before her nursemaid returned. Balthier remained in Ellie's bedchamber, allowing Vaan and Ellie a bit of privacy.

Vaan caught Ellie halfway across the room, jerking her off her feet and slinging her over his shoulder. She kicked wildly until he set her down on the small sofa near the window, putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her from bolting.

"What would your mama say if she saw that?" He asked. "I'm disappointed in you, Ellie."

She sniffled. "He's a liar. The _Strahl _was _your _ship, Vaan. Yours and Mama's."

"Only for a few months. It's not a lie, Ellie – it really is his airship. Your Mama and I just borrowed it for a while." Vaan swiped a throw blanket across Ellie's damp cheeks, wiping away the tears. "You owe him an apology."

Her lower lip trembled. "I don't like him."

"You don't know him," he returned. "You haven't even _tried _to like him. And maybe if you weren't so rude to him he'd be nicer to you in return," he said. "Now, come on." He ushered her back into the bedroom, nudging her towards Balthier, who waited silently within. "Ellie has something to say," he prompted.

"Sorry," she muttered, clearly irate and embarrassed at being forced to apologize. Her eyes were fixed firmly on her toes.

Balthier surprised himself by kneeling down so that they were nearly at eye-level with one another. "Are you _truly _sorry?" he asked.

She glanced up briefly. "No. Sir," she added as an afterthought.

"_Ellie_," Vaan admonished, astonished at her impudence. Balthier held up a hand, silencing Vaan's protest.

"Then don't apologize," he said. "An empty apology is meaningless."

Surprised that she wasn't going to be further scolded, Ellie raised her head. "You're not mad?"

"Not particularly, no. I've been called worse." He set his hand on her head, stroking her soft blonde hair. "I think you're confused and frightened and perhaps a little angry, and I think you've every right to be. I'd prefer it if in the future you could express your anger with words rather than projectiles aimed at my head, but you don't have to be sorry for being angry, Ellie."

She frowned at him suspiciously. "I _still _don't like you," she said.

He managed a wry smile. "That's okay, too."


	14. Chapter 14

Ellie did not invite Balthier to join her and Vaan in their games, but nor did she completely ignore him. After she'd grown bored with playing with model airships, she moved hesitantly over to where Balthier was carefully assembling the towering spires of a castle with a set of wooden blocks.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Building a castle." He offered her a block. "Would you like to help?"

"No." She took a step backwards, wary of giving him the impression that she wanted to play with him. "Maybe I'll just watch."

Balthier shrugged as if it did not matter much to him what she did one way or the other. "Suit yourself. Little girls aren't usually very good at building things, anyway."

"I am, too," she protested. "I could build a castle if I wanted to." Setting her jaw stubbornly, she decided she could tolerate his company long enough to prove her worth as an architect. She dropped down a few feet away from him, gathering up an armload of blocks.

Vaan took a seat on the windowsill not too very far away, stifling a chuckle at how easily Ellie had fallen for Balthier's reverse psychology.

"Here." Balthier gathered a couple of blocks, stacking them neatly. "If you stack them like this –" he demonstrated, laying one across the seam made by the two below it, "– the wall will be more stable. You'll be able to build it higher."

"Oh." She scrutinized his tower carefully, examining the angles. "How did you make that part?" She indicated the sloped tower top. He showed her how to make it, using two wedge pieces.

"Nicely done," he said as she carefully assembled a tower. He noticed she had nearly exhausted her small supply of blocks, so he pushed another bunch her way. "Do you like living here?" he asked.

"Not really." She fixed her gaze on her castle, reaching for blocks blindly as she put together an outer wall. "It's too big. And Mama is always too busy to play with me. I don't think…" she faltered, setting a block down too hard. The side of her castle collapsed, bringing one tower with it. Her hand dropped to her side as she studied the ruins of her block castle impassively. "I don't think Mama likes me very much anymore."

"I'm sure she loves you very much," Balthier heard himself saying hoarsely. For some reason it was hard to speak – his throat had closed up and he had to swallow hard several times to manage to it. "I'll bet she wishes she could be here playing with you right now."

Ellie looked skeptical. "If Mama wants to play with me, why won't she?"

At a loss as to how to explain the unusual situation to such a young child, Balthier hesitated – and Vaan jumped in.

"It's time for us to go," he said. "We've stayed long enough for today." Vaan escorted Ellie back to bed and tucked her in. "Take your nap," he said, ruffling her hair. "You're still a kid, you need your sleep." He bent down to kiss her forehead. "Don't worry so much, okay? Your mama loves you. She's just a little busy right now. It won't always be that way," he reassured her, praying it was the truth. "But if you're lonely, maybe Balthier will come to visit you every so often. Would you like that?"

She looked across the room to where Balthier stood near the door and shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe…maybe he's not _so _bad," she whispered to him.

Vaan figured it was as close to an invitation to return as Balthier was likely to get. "All right," he said. "Be good for your nanny, okay?"

She nodded her assent, and Balthier and Vaan left her to her own devices in her bedroom. Vaan peeked out into the hallway to check it for guards or servants. They escaped into the hallway unseen. Several minutes later, the nursemaid returned with the requested tea and cookies, only to find Ellie fast asleep and her visitor gone.

--

Penelo pleaded a headache directly after dinner and returned to her rooms in a state of self-disgust. She had yet to become Larsa's wife and _already _she was lying to shirk her obligations. Though she knew Larsa had certain expectations of her – and certainly he had the right to have them – she knew also that she had neglected her daughter as of late, and that was infinitely more important to her. She neither wanted nor needed to have any involvement in the running of Larsa's empire. She was quite sure he would do a fine job of it all by himself.

Scurrying ahead of the servants scrambling to assist her, she managed to gain the satisfaction of opening her _own_ door and darting through it before any of them could protest. As it closed behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a little privacy! No prying eyes whatsoever.

She could have used a nap – but she knew that Ellie was likely in the next room having her own dinner with her nursemaid, and it seemed like weeks since she'd last seen her daughter. Wearily, she opened the adjoining door to the common room and walked in.

Ellie and her nursemaid were seated at the table, eating quietly. It was strange for Penelo to see Ellie so silent and ladylike – dinner in their household had always been a cheerful, animated affair. Ellie had been more likely to fling peas across the room with her spoon than sit in somber silence, eating almost mechanically. The solemn creature sitting at that small table resembled her daughter not at all, and it worried Penelo more than a little.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked softly. Ellie turned at the sound, her face lighting as she caught sight of her mother.

"Mama!" Ellie leapt up from her chair, tripping over her own feet in her haste to throw herself into Penelo's arms. Penelo caught her close, cradling her little girl in her arms, burying her face in her daughter's sweet-smelling hair.

"I thought you had to go to a meeting," Ellie said, clinging tightly to her mother.

"I did." Penelo crossed the room, setting Ellie back in her chair. "But I decided I'd rather come and see you. Hurry up and finish eating, okay?"

Obediently, Ellie shoveled her food in her mouth with more enthusiasm than grace. "I'm full," she mumbled around a mouthful of biscuit.

Penelo wiped the crumbs from Ellie's cheeks, then addressed the nursemaid. "I'll take over from here," she said. "You can have the night off."

Though she obviously disapproved of being relieved of her duties by the soon-to-be consort to the Emperor, the woman said nothing as she bobbed a curtsey and hurried out the door.

Ellie tugged Penelo's hand. "Will you tell me a story tonight? Nanny's stories aren't as good as yours are, Mama."

"Of course I will," Penelo replied. "Go wash your face and brush your teeth while I find you a nightgown, okay?"

Ellie scampered off, her bare feet padding quietly across the carpet. Penelo was disheartened to realized that it had been so long since she'd put her little girl to bed that she did not know where Ellie's nightclothes were kept. She rummaged through Ellie's drawers while the girl washed up, eventually coming up with a soft, white linen gown.

In the corner, Penelo noticed a couple of block castles, one half-collapsed. "Did you play blocks with Nanny today?" she called.

"No," came the answer. "Nanny isn't very good at blocks."

Frowning, Penelo observed the still-standing castle. It looked pretty decent to her – and probably a bit taller than Ellie could build on her own. "Then who helped you build these castles?"

In the bathroom, brushing her teeth, Ellie hesitated. She could tell her mama about her unexpected visitor – and likely never be bothered by the strange man again. On the other hand, he'd played blocks with her – something adults rarely deigned to do. If she told her mama that he'd come to see her, maybe she'd never find out if he was really her papa because he'd never get to come play with her again. And maybe if he didn't come play with her anymore, she'd get lonely again.

"Vaan came to visit me today," she said. It wasn't a lie, exactly – Vaan had come to visit. He just hadn't been the one to help her build the castles.

"Oh." Instantly placated, Penelo smiled. "That was nice of him. Did you have a good time?"

"Yes. We played airships, too." Ellie emerged from the bathroom, sporting clean teeth and a freshly-washed face. Penelo helped her change into the nightgown, then tucked her into bed.

"What sort of story do you want to hear?" she asked, climbing onto the bed beside Ellie. Ellie turned towards her, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Will you tell me about the _Strahl_, Mama?" Ellie asked. "About when it was _your _airship?"

"Oh, it was never _really _mine," Penelo responded. "Vaan and I were just taking care of it for…someone."

"Why couldn't they take care of it themselves?" Ellie snuggled closer. Penelo sighed, resting her forehead against her daughter's.

"It's a long and very scary story, honey. I'm not sure you should hear it." Truly, the concepts of war and civil unrest were likely too confusing for a four-year-old to fully comprehend.

"_Please_, Mama. I want to hear about it." Ellie thrust out her lower lip, which quivered oh so entreatingly.

And Penelo caved, just like always. "Well, you see, several years ago – before you were born, even – your Auntie Ashe got married."

"Just like you're going to marry Uncle Larsa?" Ellie interrupted.

"More or less." Penelo sighed, trying to decide what facts she ought to edit out of the story. "Shortly after her marriage – to Prince Rasler, of Nabradia – another kingdom attacked Dalmasca. Archadia – that is, the Imperial Army – marched on the city of Rabanastre."

"Where we used to live, Mama?" Ellie's eyes were wide.

"The very same. Ashe's husband insisted on riding to the defense of his new kingdom, but he took an arrow to the chest. He died shortly after, and Ashe became a widow. Ashe went into hiding, and the rumor went around that Ashe had died, too." She didn't add that the rumor had been that Ashe had committed suicide – that was _certainly _not a thing a child should hear.

"But she was okay, right, Mama?"

"Her body was fine, but her heart was hurt – Ashe loved her husband very much. Even all these years later, she's never remarried." Penelo drew a deep breath. She knew what it was like to hurt, to lose loved ones. She'd lost her family. But Ashe had lost everything – husband, father, home, and kingdom. Even her name had been lost to her; she'd spent years unable to use her own name for fear of capture. "So, with the Imperial Army within the city, and Lord Vayne – your Uncle Larsa's older brother – in the palace, Ashe went underground. She led resistance efforts in the attempt to force Archadian troops out of Dalmasca. They were largely unsuccessful, until –"

"Mama, when's _your _part?" Ellie, growing bored with explanations of military proceedings, not so subtly attempted to move to story along.

"I'm getting there," Penelo replied. "So one day, Vaan snuck into the palace through the waterways beneath Lowtown. He managed to avoid the Imperial guards within, and found his way into a hidden chamber, where he stole a piece of nethicite. Along the way he also ran into a pair of sky pirates, who also wanted the nethicite that Vaan had stolen. They fled into the waterways and there met a woman who called herself Amalia."

"I've never heard of her before," Ellie said.

"That's because Amalia wasn't her real name. It was Ashe. Anyway, we discovered that not everything was as it seemed – the traitor, Basch, wasn't truly a traitor. He became an ally to Ashe and eventually we all joined her cause and together we sought a way to end the war between Archadia and Dalmasca and to restore Ashe to her throne. The _Strahl_ belonged to the two sky pirates that Vaan had encountered in the Treasury. We used it a great deal to travel Ivalice."

"You and Vaan and Auntie Ashe and Sir Basch and two sky pirates," Ellie ticked off the people on her fingers. "That's not very many people."

"There were six of us," Penelo said. "For a while it felt like it was just us six against all the world. We had some occasional extra help, though. Your Uncle Larsa was with us for a while."

"But he is the Emperor of Archadia! Why did he want to help Auntie Ashe?"

"He wasn't the Emperor then," Penelo corrected. "It was his brother that wanted to take control of Ivalice. Larsa had always been good and kind – he wants the best for all people, not only just his own. He is nothing like his brother." She certainly didn't want Ellie to think anything negative about Larsa, who had definitely been blameless in the whole affair, and had done his best, even at the tender age of twelve, to correct it. "But, anyway – so it came to Ridorana. Together, we all journeyed to Ridorana in the _Strahl_, and the sky pirate – the one that owned the _Strahl_ – told Vaan that if anything ever happened to him, he was leaving the _Strahl _in Vaan's care. We didn't foresee –"

"What was his name, Mama? The sky pirate who gave the _Strahl _to Vaan?"

Penelo hesitated – would she connect the name with the man in the marketplace? Had anyone said his name in her hearing? She didn't know. But…she didn't want to lie to Ellie. "Balthier," she said. "His name is Balthier."

Ellie pursed her lips, as though she were considering how best to use the new information Penelo had provided. "Is he my papa?" she asked finally. "Is that man my papa?"

Penelo struggled to come up with an answer that wouldn't lead to more uncomfortable questions. She had hoped to delay this whole unpleasant situation for a while. A few years, at least. "Well, you see –"

"I _thought _I'd find you in here."

Penelo and Ellie both looked towards the doorway, where Larsa stood, smiling at the cozy picture of Penelo curled up next to her daughter on the small bed.

Simultaneously embarrassed at being caught out of bed when she'd pleaded a headache and thankful that he'd interrupted her in the midst of giving an answer she had not been prepared to give, Penelo blushed helplessly. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," Larsa said, approaching the bed. "I've skipped out on a few meetings, myself. It would be hypocritical of me to condemn you for it. I'm sure it's all a lot to get used to," he said. Kneeling beside the bed, he brushed back Ellie's hair, kissing her forehead. "Do you like your room, sweetheart?'

Ellie nodded. "But…I miss my mama," she said. "We never get to play anymore."

"I'm sorry," Larsa said. "I know it must be hard for you to understand. Things are busy right now, and your mama wishes she had more time to spend with you. In just a little while, it will be different. And, Ellie, about your papa…the most important thing is to have a father who loves you, whether or not you were born to him. If you will have me, _I_ would like to be your papa, Ellie."

Ellie thought for a moment about the brooding, awkward man who had tagged along with Vaan to visit with her, mentally comparing him with kind, funny, handsome Uncle Larsa. Larsa loved Ellie and her mama. She knew he would take care of them, that he would be a good father. She knew little about the other man – only that everyone seemed to think he was her _real _papa, and that he didn't like children. Well, she didn't like him much, either.

"Okay," she said, shrugging her small shoulders. "You can be my papa."

Larsa let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He knew that Ellie's acceptance would go a long way towards soothing Penelo's worries.

"Well, as I understand it, a good papa always tucks his children in at night," he said, kissing her forehead.

"And mamas, too," Ellie added. "My mama tucks me in every…" she faltered, gripping the covers tightly in her small fists. "Well," she said, "she _used _to tuck me in every night. Now, Nanny tucks me in." There was no condemnation in the forlorn statement; only a wistful acceptance.

"Oh, dear, that _is _a problem," he 'tsk'ed. "From now on, your mama and I will tuck you into bed ourselves every night."

"_Every _night?"

"Absolutely every one." He tried to look as solemn as possible – for a child so young, being tucked in by her parents probably seemed like the most important thing in all the world.

"Even when you're busy? Even when you have a meeting?" Wide-eyed, she awaited his answer.

"Even then," he said. "Even if we're busy, we'll still come to tuck you in every night."

"Do you pinky promise?" She held out her littlest finger. Larsa hooked his own around it obligingly.

"I do," he said. "I want you to be happy here, Ellie. In just a few weeks, your mama and I will be married, and then you will be my daughter just as surely as you are your mama's. I will do my best to be a good papa to you."

Ellie hesitated. "Do you love my mama?"

Penelo made a soft sound of embarrassment, ready to protest the question, but Larsa hushed her.

"Very much," he answered. "Which is why I am going to marry her."

"And does my mama love you, too?"

"I think she does, in her own way," he replied seriously.

Ellie watched both of them carefully – they seemed happy enough, and she had no papa of her own. Larsa wanted to be her papa, and it didn't seem that the man who owned the _Strahl_ (who might _actually _be her real papa) wanted to be a papa at all, much less Ellie's papa. At least Larsa cared about her – _he _liked children.

"Okay," she said earnestly. "You can marry my mama."

Larsa, who hadn't realized he had required the permission of a four-year-old to wed her mother, burst into startled laughter.

"Why, thank you," he said when he'd composed himself, ruffling her hair. "I think we'll get along just fine."

--

Balthier kept away from Archades for nearly a week. He spent some time on the Phon Coast, where he purchased the Vanish spell he would require to reenter the palace, and brushing up on his attacks – ever since Penelo had accused him of growing useless and slow in his 'old age', he'd been just the slightest bit sensitive about being perceived as past his prime. True, he was five years older – but that didn't make him a doddering old man. She'd tried to make him feel as though he had one foot in the grave already, and it simply wasn't the truth.

Besides, it wasn't as if she hadn't aged, as well – but then, she _had _aged rather nicely. Even bearing a daughter hadn't detracted from her subtle beauty. Rather, he thought it had enhanced it – she glowed with love for her daughter and zeal for life. Though Penelo had never been a flashy and elegant sort, she had a quiet, delicate, almost ethereal sort of beauty that had always been far more attractive to him than the ostentatious, showy sort his father had always foisted on him in his younger days.

To be sure, she did not belong in Larsa's palace, assuming the role of royal consort. That sort of formality did not suit her at all – he could not envision her constrained to the rigid procedures and rituals of the court. She was too soft, too homey and casual. She was much better suited to working in a restaurant – or being a housewife. He could almost imagine her aboard the _Strahl_, in the kitchen, in the midst of baking cookies or some other such dessert, with a dab of flour on her cheek and a soft smile on her lips as she called their daughter to come set the table.

Just as quickly as the image had sprung into his mind, it faded – leaving him feeling oddly bereft and more than a little perturbed. Where the hell had _that_ come from? He had to remind himself that he wasn't in the market for another partner – be she lover or no.

He sighed, turning in his chair to set a course for Archades, despite his misgivings. Spending so much time around Penelo and their daughter was almost certainly a bad idea – he wasn't completely sure that his desire to know his daughter wasn't anything more than the need to beat Larsa at something, and if he truly couldn't care for the child, it would certainly be kinder to leave her in Larsa's care.

And he regretted that his own upbringing likely had a great deal of influence on his capacity to love, for it was his daughter that would suffer for it. Somehow he thought that maybe, if he had had the love and devotion of both of his parents, he might've turned out differently. Perhaps he would have enjoyed having a family, perhaps instead of his characteristic cynicism he would have had something of the wide-eyed wonder that Penelo possessed.

But still a tiny, uneasy thought settled in the back of his mind – even if he _could _love Ellie, what then? For Penelo would marry Larsa either way, and the child did not require two fathers, especially not men in such fierce competition with one another. So where did that leave them? Better off than before, or worse?

--

The door of Ellie's bedroom quietly opened and closed, but no one entered. Confused, she moved towards it, then opened the door and peeked out. Nanny was sitting in a rocking chair not too far away, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose, concentrating on the book she held before her. Ellie shut the door, then turned around – and gave a little startled gasp.

"Sorry," Balthier said, from where he stood not ten feet away. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He held out a prettily wrapped package, but Ellie made no move to take it.

"How did you _do _that?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

"Magick," he said. "It's called Vanish; I picked it up on the Phon Coast."

"Can you teach me how to do it?"

Balthier chuckled, sensing somehow that she was thinking of escaping baths and sneaking her way into the kitchens to pilfer cookies. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. You'll have to be a little older before you learn this kind of magick."

"I'm almost five," she said.

"Well, that's quite old indeed. However, I do think we should defer to your mother's better judgment as to when would be an appropriate time for you to begin learning magick," he replied. "It can be very dangerous if it is not used with caution. I should hate to see you get hurt."

Her lower lip was thrust out, disappointment evident in her face. She shuffled her feet, pouting. He resisted the urge to laugh – she looked so like Penelo having a tantrum.

"I can't teach you any magick just yet," he said. "But would you like to play a game instead?"

She shrugged. For nearly a week, she'd been on her own at naptime, left to her own devices – and games weren't nearly so much fun played on her own. If she had only _him _to play with, well…she would just have to make do. She thought briefly of Larsa – who didn't much care for Balthier. Probably Larsa wouldn't want Ellie to play with him.

But she couldn't help but wonder why he'd come to see her again, when she _knew _he didn't like children. He wasn't very good at playing children's games. But maybe he just needed a little help, just like she needed someone to play with.

"I _guess_ that would be okay," she said finally. "If you want, I mean."

--

Though he'd come to see her several times since – and been subjected to countless tea parties and games of dress-up – Ellie still had not opened the gift he'd brought for her. Though he said nothing about it, it worried him that she still refused his gift. He knew she remembered it; he'd caught her looking at it speculatively often enough. But for some reason unknown to him, she would not open it.

However, he had been pleased to discover that Vaan had been right after all. While at first she had been hesitant to speak with him or play with him, she now actively involved him in her games and chattered happily while she served him pretend tea in tiny china cups.

It confused him that he actually enjoyed their near-daily playtime; he had never imagined that he would find anything in common with a child or that he would _like _being in the company of one. And though in truth they had little in common, it was a delight just to watch her playing and discovering the world around her. Though he still had trouble thinking of himself as a father – or of Ellie as his daughter – it was nowhere near as uncomfortable and distasteful to be around her as he'd thought it would be. And though she had moments of reservation – times when she would grow quiet and pensive – on the whole, she seemed a happy, charming child.

Ellie, who had been quietly flipping through a picture book at her small tea table, suddenly spoke.

"Uncle Larsa wants to be my papa."

The solemnly spoken statement shook him from his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"Since I don't have one, Uncle Larsa asked if he could be my papa." Ellie fixed him with a frank stare, observing his reaction. "I told him he could."

Balthier fought to keep his expression neutral. He was suddenly unreasonably angry – but it wasn't as though he hadn't expected such a thing. Indeed, he had known that Larsa was quite willing to step into the role of 'father', but somehow…he hadn't expected it to be so soon, or for Ellie to take to the idea quite so willingly.

"I see," he said slowly. "You want Larsa to be your papa, then?" His voice was perfectly measured – there was nothing in his tone to suggest he had any opinion on the matter one way or another.

"Well…he loves my mama. And he wants a little girl. And I don't have a papa." Again her gaze shifted in his direction, as if waiting for him to interject.

"I have no doubt that Larsa will be a very good papa," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Her gaze slid away from him, her lips pursing. Slowly she got up, crossed the room, and retrieved the still-wrapped gift he'd brought her so many weeks before. She held it carefully as she approached him, then slowly set it in his lap.

"You have to take it back," she said. "You can't be my papa. So you have to take it back." Her lower lip quivered – she stubbornly refused to cry.

Somehow that final rejection hurt him in a part of his heart he'd thought long dead and buried. He set the box aside, put his hands on her small shoulders, and pulled her into his arms. It was the first physical overture he'd ever made towards her – but instead of pushing away from him as he'd thought she might, she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

Entirely bewildered by the desire to comfort her, he awkwardly patted her back.

"You're s-supposed to say it's g-gonna be all right," she mumbled tearfully, her voice muffled by his shirtfront.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I suppose I'm not very good at this sort of thing." He smoothed her tangled blonde hair away from her face, mopping up her tears with his sleeve. She sniffled a few times, then threw her arms around his neck.

"Are you my papa?" she asked. "Are you really my _real _papa?"

He absorbed the feeling of her chubby arms linked around his neck with a sort of shock – it had been completely unexpected, but also strangely…nice. "Yes," he said softly. "But…it's okay if you want Larsa to be your papa, Ellie." Gods help him, it _wasn't _okay. She was _his _daughter.

"Mama wants him to be my papa," she said. "So I don't think that…that you should come to see me anymore." Another sniffle. "I'm sorry I called you mean. And old. And ugly." She laid her head on his shoulder. "I think…I think you might be sort of a _nice _papa."

Odd, considering he didn't have the slightest clue as to how a father was supposed to behave. He set her on her feet, straightening her rumpled nightgown. "I think it would have been nice to have you for a daughter, Ellie," he said. "And…if you should ever want to see me again, you can tell Vaan, and he will tell me."

"Okay." She picked up the gift he'd left on the floor. "Here," she said, offering it to him.

He shook his head. "No, you keep it. I have no use for it. You're nearly five, right?" At her nod, he smiled. "Then think of it as a birthday present," he said. He touched her tousled hair – probably the last time he would ever do so. "Mind your mama and papa," he managed.

"I will," she said gravely. "Goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye, Ellie." He cast the Vanish spell, feeling the cool rush of the magick envelop him, and quietly left her room.


	15. Chapter 15

"But, Mama, it's my birthday!" Ellie grabbed a fistful of Penelo's rose-colored gown, looking up at her mother plaintively.

"I know, sweetheart." Penelo knelt down, heedless of the yards of expensive fabric crinkling beneath her knees. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could put this ball off a few days. I wish I had realized earlier that it was scheduled for tonight." She held both of Ellie's hands against her cheeks. "But it can't simply be cancelled. I promise, tomorrow will be a day for just the three of us. We'll make it the best birthday ever, okay?"

"But it won't be my birthday tomorrow!" Ellie flung herself on her bed, kicking her feet angrily. "It's my birthday _today_, and you don't care!"

"Of course I care," Penelo soothed. "You're my little girl, and I love you more than anything in the world. Nothing is ever going to change that." She sat beside Ellie on the bed, but the child refused to be held, so Penelo settled for rubbing her back. "I know you're angry, and I'm very sorry." She looked towards Larsa, who stood in the doorway observing. Still a little out of his element with a child in the throes of a tantrum, he shrugged. "We have to go now, darling. Can I get a hug before I go?"

Ellie turned her face away. "No!"

Penelo sighed. "All right." She kissed the top of Ellie's head. "I love you, Ellie. We'll be up in a few hours to tuck you in."

"No, you won't. You'll forget about me."

"I won't, I promise. We'll be up at bedtime." Penelo stood, brushing off the front of her gown. "Well…goodbye."

She heard some rustling sounds, and then a door closing. When Ellie raised her head off the pillow, she was alone in her room. Sniffling morosely, she pulled herself up in bed. It wasn't _fair_. Just because of some stupid dance, her mama had forgotten all about her birthday.

But she realized – she _did _have _one _present. The one from Balthier, that she'd shoved at the back of her wardrobe so that no one else would find it. It was probably the only present she would get on her actual birthday.

She dug it out from behind a pile of nightgowns – the pretty paper was a bit crinkled and the weight of her clothes had flattened the bow a little, but other than that, it was undamaged. She untied the ribbon and tore the paper, reducing the package to a small brown box. She lifted the lid and pulled out – a model airship.

But she had several of those already. She studied it intently – it was a bit more elaborate than any of her other airships. The paint was shinier, newer; the frame seemed sturdier. And, there, on the side – a string of letters. She ran her fingers along them, watching the silver script gleam in the light.

She knew her letters – and she knew enough to form short words. Sitting down at her little table, she resolved to puzzle it out on her own. It was probably the prettiest airship she'd ever seen. And suddenly, her papa's words came back to her: "_They were going to destroy her, but I thought she was too beautiful to let that happen_…"

And she knew what word was written along the side of the ship in that pretty silver paint – _Strahl_. He'd remembered how much she'd liked the stories of it, how she'd played airships with Vaan, always make-believing that her bulky, mass-produced model airships were the _Strahl_, and he'd gotten her a _real_model of it.

Tears welled in her eyes, and a shrill cry rose in her throat.

Her nanny, who had been waiting in the nursery for Ellie to calm down and resign herself to being alone on her birthday, came rushing in to see what was wrong.

"My goodness, what a fuss! Whatever is the matter?"

Ellie choked back her sniffles long enough to wail, "I want my papa!"

"Now, Miss," the nanny soothed. "Lord Larsa and Lady Penelo will return in time to put you to bed. But _I'll _be here to –"

"_Not_ Uncle Larsa," Ellie interrupted. "I want my _papa_. My _real _papa!" Her lower lip trembled.

"I'm afraid I don't know how to find your papa, Miss," the nursemaid said, a little confused. Though she knew that Lord Larsa was _not _Ellie's father, nobody else seemed to know exactly who Ellie's father really _was_.

Ellie drew a shuddering breath. "Please may I see Vaan?"

"I'm sorry, but he is also at the ball, Miss." While the nursemaid didn't approve of the tantrum that Ellie had indulged in, it really _was _a shame that Lord Larsa and Lady Penelo could not be with the child on her birthday – of course the little girl would be upset.

"Please, Nanny." Ellie reached out and caught a fistful of the woman's apron. "Please, just for a few minutes? I'll be good." She made a valiant effort to blink back the tears that still filled her eyes.

The nursemaid hesitated. "I cannot bring you to the ball," she said. "It's not an event for children." Her heart wrenched at Ellie's forlorn expression. The child cradled the model airship to her chest, stifling a sob. "But I'll send a maid to fetch him when he has a spare moment," Nanny heard herself saying. "It might not be for a while, though, so you'll have to be a good girl until he can come."

"Thank you." Ellie wrapped her arms around the woman's midsection, managing a tremulous smile. "I'll be good, I promise."

--

The ball was lovely, crowded, and utterly boring. Penelo had never cared much for the elegant soirees of the rich – they were far too stuffy and pretentious for her taste, and even the dances were all wrong. Penelo loved to dance, but these nobles did it with an air of extreme nonchalance – they cared more for flaunting their wealth, and Penelo could not abide the tiresome indifference of the attendees.

Worse than that was the obvious disdain many of the nobles held for her – while she had known that most of them would likely disapprove of their monarch's chosen bride, she had not realized that so many would make their hostility quite so evident. And at this, the ball that Larsa had given to formally announce their engagement!

She circulated the room, forcing a smile as she passed a group of beautiful – if haughty – young women who were gossiping about her in a loud whisper about her lack of breeding and beauty. Clearly they meant to be overheard, but she didn't care what they said – she knew she wasn't beautiful, perhaps, but she was pretty at least, and Larsa didn't care that she was a commoner. That was all that mattered. She smiled at them with saccharine sweetness, fluttering her fingers. She had to just pretend she didn't hear them talking, pretend it didn't matter what anyone said. Eventually, the gossip would die down.

She glanced about the room for Vaan and saw him leaning down to listen to a nervous-looking maidservant. His brows drew together as she spoke, and shortly thereafter they both left the ballroom. Penelo wondered if something was wrong – was he leaving the ball? She felt strangely deserted – Vaan was the only person in attendance of similar rank and circumstances. He alone would understand her discomfort.

"I heard she kept company with _sky pirates_!" Came one scandalous whisper from somewhere behind her – probably those catty, jealous women.

"_I _heard she _was _a sky pirate!"

Penelo's back stiffened – so what if it _was _true? There were worse things to be. A spiteful, vulgar bitch, for instance.

"Don't let them bother you," Larsa said softly, having returned, carrying two flutes of champagne. He handed one to her. "They're jealous. They have only their wealth to recommend them, and it galls them that you have outdone them without it."

Penelo drained the glass quickly. "They're cruel and petty."

"Yes." Larsa took the empty glass. "I doubt they know how to be anything else."

"Hateful. Vindictive." She moved on to his glass – she was far too sober for comfort. He surrendered it without protest.

"Quite. Don't overdo it, you'll be sick in the morning."

If she didn't, she was going to be sick right _now_. "Vile. Insufferable."

"Indeed." He watched her set her chin stubbornly. "What are you going to do?"

She smiled slowly, passing off the other empty glass. "Why, I'm going to go introduce myself, of course."

"Are you certain that's a good idea?" Larsa asked warily. "It's not necessary – they're not important. Likely the daughters of the lesser nobility. No one you need concern yourself with, if you do not wish it."

"No." Penelo curled her hands into fists. "I don't really care what they say – but I can't let them get away with saying it. If they malign me, they malign you. And they won't stop at that, either – they'll harass Ellie eventually, if I don't put a stop to it now." She patted his cheek fondly. "Don't worry; I won't make a scene."

She turned away, gliding gracefully across the floor, leaving Larsa to his own devices. Discreetly he watched from not too far away as Penelo approached the group of young women. Surprise was etched on their features – obviously they had not imagined that she, a commoner, would dare to approach them in such a manner regardless of her currently elevated station.

Though Larsa could not hear what she was saying, he could see from the scarlet blushes and horrified expressions of her current companions that her words belied her gentle appearance. She smiled sweetly, clasped her hands before her demurely, and tilted her head to the side just a little, appearing every inch a modest, elegant young lady.

Evidently chastened, the group of women bobbed hasty curtseys, gathered their skirts, and turned to flee. Penelo fluttered her fingers at them.

"Good night," she called. "_Do _come again!"

Larsa hid his smirk behind his hand – clearly, his bride was a woman not to be trifled with.

--

It was rather late when Balthier arrived at the palace, having been summoned there by Vaan on behalf of his daughter. Though he was irked at the idea of Ellie being so upset by Penelo's seeming defection, he had been raised in just such a world and realized that, as distressing as it might have been for the child, there had been no deliberate abandonment – it simply could not have been avoided.

He had every intention of explaining that to the distraught Ellie – but he could not resist a peek at the ball before heading up to Ellie's room. He had an overwhelming curiosity to see how Penelo was getting on at such a formal affair.

With so many people coming and going, it was especially easy to sneak into the palace – and, usually a rather elegant dresser, he did not appear too differently garbed from most of the men present. He would blend in fine – unless Larsa or Penelo caught sight of him.

He followed a cluster of elaborately-gowned women and the faint strains of music until at last the hallway opened into a large ballroom. A wide staircase lead down onto the marble floor and a semi-circular balcony extended around so that viewers from the top level could watch the dancing from above. He moved further down the balcony, scanning the crowd below for a familiar face.

It didn't take very long to locate her – she moved with a fluid grace that the other dancers lacked, a practiced, elegant glide. Her hair was curled and pinned up in an artful riot of silky locks and tiny pearl-tipped pins, and her pink gown swirled gracefully about her ankles. She was dancing with Larsa, and Balthier grudgingly admitted to himself that the two of them made a handsome pair. The darkness of his hair and features was balanced in the fairness of hers. Larsa clasped one of her small hands in his and held the other at the small of her back as he led her around the dance floor. She looked so small and dainty next to him that, had he not known the truth, he would have sworn Larsa was the older of the two – not Penelo, by five years.

Though she still moved lightly, they were not so far away that he could not see the small frown that creased her brow or the tightness about her lips – and there, he was _sure _he'd seen her wince. How could Larsa not see she was in pain?

He was halfway down the steps before he knew it, and even as he realized what folly it would be to reveal his presence, he was weaving his way through dancing couples until he came within a few feet of Penelo and Larsa.

Larsa saw him first, his mouth shifting from its easy smile into a firm, compressed line in a space of seconds. Penelo, who noticed that Larsa had missed the step before she noticed his frown, spoke.

"What's wrong? Is something –" She turned her head, following Larsa's heated gaze. "Balthier? What are you –" she turned to Larsa. "Did you…?"

"No, I did not invite him. Clearly I will need to heighten the security – it's obviously not keeping out the undesirables at its present level." Larsa's jaw tautened; obviously he was trying to keep his anger from showing too much in his face.

Balthier ignored the deliberate jab and took a step closer. "May I cut in?" He held out his hand to Penelo, who hesitated.

She looked around, noticing the attention they were drawing. She suspected the only reason Larsa had not summoned any guards to remove Balthier was that he did not wish to make a scene and incite further gossip about Penelo. She moved gracefully away from Larsa and into Balthier's arms.

"It's just a few minutes," she soothed. "Let's not make a scene."

Though Larsa nodded once, a muscle in his jaw twitched and his hand s curled into fists. Before she could rescind her consent, Balthier whirled her away from Larsa, leading her gently across the floor. One of his hands clasped hers loosely, and she could feel the heat of the other at the small of her back. She kept hers light on his shoulder and stared somewhere just over it – it wouldn't do for her to appear too interested in him.

"Where does it hurt?"

"E-excuse me?" The unexpected question startled her so that _she _missed the step, and it was only his hand supporting her elbow that righted her. Too late she noticed that he was leading her off the dance floor and towards a large set of double doors that lead out into the gardens.

"I could see you wincing from the balcony. Larsa didn't notice?" He asked.

She tried to tug her hand away from his, but he held firm and slipped his arm about her waist, escorting her out into the night.

"Now, now. We wouldn't want to make a scene," he teased. "Calm yourself, I'm merely borrowing you for a bit. Now," he said after he had steered her into a secluded alcove, "where does it hurt?"

She sighed. "It's just these shoes, they pinch my feet. It's not important." She pushed away from him, waving away his concern. "Did you come here _just _to make Larsa mad?"

"No, but that does have its merits as well," he quipped. "I came because I was summoned."

"_Summoned_?" She scoffed. "By _who_?"

"A very lonely little girl who does not wish to be alone on her birthday."

She blanched. "_Ellie_? But…she doesn't even _know _you! How could she…why would she…" She made to push past him, but he blocked her in, then lifted her off her feet and set her on the railing behind her. Precariously balanced, she held onto his shoulders for support, gasping.

"She _does_ know me. Though it has been a few weeks since I last saw her, for a while I came to visit her nearly every day." His hands settled on her waist, tracing tiny circles on the silky fabric of her gown.

Stunned, her nails raked the fabric of his shirt. "She…she never said anything to me."

"Likely because she knew you would disapprove." He cupped the back of her neck, caressing the tense muscles there. He heard the rustling of her skirt as he crushed the fabric in his attempt to get closer to her. Her warm breath brushed his cheek. He leaned closer – she carried the intoxication scent of cinnamon and all around them the heady fragrance of roses permeated the air.

"Penelo…"

"Don't." She clapped her hand over his mouth, stilling him. "Please. Don't. It's…it's _wrong_, Balthier. I'm getting married."

He pried her fingers away, frowning. "You don't love him. You are still willing to go ahead with this nonsense?"

"It's _not _nonsense!" She shoved his shoulders and very nearly toppled backwards over the edge of the railing. He caught her, easing her down onto her sore feet.

"It is nonsense if you will resign yourself to a life you will hate simply to strike at me." He caught her as she turned to storm away furiously, drawing her back against his chest. "You think to accomplish two purposes by this – first, you wish to aggravate me by choosing Larsa. You are smart enough to realize that it rankles to think of you with him. Additionally, you think that once you are safely married, your honor will not permit you to keep company with another man. Perhaps you hope that my honor is such that I would not pursue a married woman." He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, hear her breath coming in hard, angry pants. "Allow me to assure that is not the case. It would seem I have no honor where you are concerned, my dear. None at all. So, go ahead and marry Larsa if you will, and we will see how this farce plays out."

He let her go abruptly, putting several feet between them before he dared to speak again. When he turned towards her, he was once again wearing the mantle of the sky pirate – his expression revealed nothing. His eyes were cold and detached.

"Your actions no longer affect only you – you have our daughter to think of. Would you consign her to a life of misery as well?" He made a harsh sound in his throat, raking his hands through his hair. "You will allow me no part of her, no part of _you_. My hands are tied, Penelo. _What would you have me do_?"

Before she could speak – before she could think – he turned and stalked away furiously, leaving her in the darkness. She touched a trembling hand to her cheek, not surprised when it came away wet. She wiped away the tears, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

"Did he kiss you again?"

She jumped, wincing when her shoes bit into her already tender heels, turning to face Larsa.

"No," she said. "He's here because he thinks it'll irritate you." Not the whole truth, but surely part of it, anyway.

"He's right."

She could hear the annoyance in his tone.

"Penelo, I cannot protect you from scandal if you continue to indulge him," Larsa said patiently.

She gaped at him incredulously. "You think I _wanted _to go with him?"

"I think part of you did, at least. Whichever part of you it is that is still having doubts. Perhaps it is because he continues to pursue you, and you find it flattering. Perhaps because you have a child by him. Perhaps you simply still harbor a few romantic dreams about him." He eased closer, setting a hand on her shoulder. "He cannot offer you the life that I can. He cannot care for Ellie the way that I can."

Angry at being accused of being faithless, Penelo shrugged off his hand. "I didn't need to marry you, Larsa. I had a good life, and I could have provided for Ellie on my own. I agreed to marry you because I thought I could find happiness with you."

He laughed, a harsh, self-deprecating sound. "You agreed to marry me because you thought it was the only way you could hurt him as he hurt you. I knew it then, and I would have taken you however I could get you. I will still take you, Penelo – but I want a real marriage. Even if you don't love me, you feel some affection for me. The closer you allow Balthier, the farther I fall in your attentions – I am greedy enough to want more."

He caught her around the waist, drawing her close. "You realize that I will want children, Penelo – an Emperor must have heirs. And as my wife, you will be expected to provide them."

"I _know_." She shoved away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't you think I _know_? How could I _possibly _forget? Believe me, all I ever hear is how I am expected to do my _duty_, to put Archadia before all else. I'm exhausted, spending my days in meetings and fittings and formal dinners and lunches and breakfasts. Not an hour passes without someone correcting me – either I'm using the wrong fork, or my stockings don't match my gown, or I didn't pronounce something correctly. I'm constantly kept away from my daughter – she sees her nannies and her nursemaids more frequently than she sees _me. _It won't be long until she forgets me entirely! I _hate _this ball, and I _hate _these clothes and I _hate – these – goddamn – shoes_!"

She kicked off the offending footwear, gathered them up, and flung them angrily at his chest. Then she gathered up her skirts, and ran – barefoot – down the steps and far out into the garden.

"Penelo! Penelo, _please_…" Larsa started after her, but changed his mind halfway down the stairs. As upset as she was, his presence could only disturb her further. Perhaps she only needed a little time to sort out her riotous emotions. He sighed – but resigned himself to returning to the ballroom and making excuses for his missing fiancée.


	16. Chapter 16

The bedroom was dark when Balthier slipped into it – by all means, Ellie should have been asleep hours ago. However, though she was in bed, she kicked and turned restlessly. He let fall the magic concealing him from view, and sat at the edge of her bed.

Tucked beneath one arm was the model of the _Strahl_. He knew it could not be comfortable to sleep with, but it pleased him that she liked it. Of course, no mass-produced models of the ship existed – he'd had to commission one for her. He'd been pleased with the result – it was a good likeness, a fine replication of the airship he loved so – and that it seemed his daughter loved, as well.

He brushed her tangled hair away from her face, and she blinked sleepily, sitting up slowly.

"_Papa_," she said, throwing her arms around his neck. "You came!"

"I told you I would," he responded, perhaps a little gruffly, closing his arms around her. He had not expected her to call him by anything other than his name; that she called him _papa_ both touched and confused him. He did not understand how a simple word could warm his heart.

"Mama is dancing," she complained. "Even though it's my _birthday_."

"I'm sure your mama really wanted to be with you today," he said. "I'm sure she was very sad that she had something else she had to do instead. Your mama loves you very much."

Ellie nodded. "Do _you _love me very much, too, Papa?"

Balthier hesitated – should he tell the girl a kind lie? Pretend an emotion he'd never felt? At least he was fond of the child – that would have to be enough. "Ellie," he said, "this may be difficult for you to understand…but I was not raised like you, with a mama like yours. I was never loved, and so I never learned how to love anyone in return. But I…I care for you very much."

"That's stupid," she said bluntly. "You _have _to love me; you're my papa." And she tightened her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder.

And he couldn't bring himself to argue with her, not when she was curled in his lap so sweetly. So he stroked her back and kissed the top of her head, feeling her settle in, curling her little fingers into the crisp white fabric of his shirt.

She patted his cheek with one hand. "Don't worry, Papa. It isn't hard to love someone. Sometimes you don't even want to and it just happens like an accident."

Surprised, he said, "Really?"

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, and the top of her head bumped his chin. "I didn't even _like _you when you came with Vaan to play with me. But you played with me when nobody else would. Not even Mama." She let out a long sigh. "And you tried really hard even though you're _still _not very good at playing pretend. So you _had _to love me, because why else would you play with me?" She didn't give him a chance to respond to her assertion, but kept right on talking. "And even though I didn't even want to like you, my heart was happy when you came to see me. Because you're my papa, and I love you."

"Ellie, I –" He groaned at the sound of Penelo's hushed voice in the next room. "That's your mama," he said.

Ellie nodded. "I guess you have to go." She scrambled off his lap, diving beneath the covers.

"Just for a little while," he said. "I'll come visit you again, if you like."

"Okay," she said. "Hurry or Mama will be mad."

Balthier cast Vanish upon himself just in time – just seconds after the last glow of the magic disappeared, Penelo stepped through the door. She looked more than a little bedraggled – somewhere along the way she'd lost her shoes, and her wrinkled dress had obviously seen better days. One sleeve had slipped off her shoulder and there were several small tears along the full skirt. And, strangely enough, somehow she'd gotten rose petals in her hair – had she fallen onto a rose bush?

Unceremoniously, she dropped onto Ellie's bed and crawled up towards the pillow where Ellie was feigning sleep.

"Ellie," she whispered. "How are you?"

Ellie opened one eye. "Still mad." She whispered back. "You hurt my feelings, Mama."

"I know," Penelo replied. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." She eased closer, sliding one arm beneath Ellie's pillow. "Will you forgive me?" She touched her forehead to Ellie's and fished one of Ellie's hands from beneath the blankets to kiss her palm.

"Maybe tomorrow," Ellie said. "Will we go on a picnic?"

"If you want to," Penelo said. "It'll be your birthday party, after all."

"No fancy dresses?"

"Absolutely not," Penelo replied.

"No meetings?"

"I've got a clear schedule. So does Larsa. Tomorrow we're all yours, sweetheart," Penelo said.

"Okay." Elle linked her fingers with Penelo's, snuggling deeper into the covers with a loud yawn. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you, too, darling." Penelo closed her eyes, and for a moment Balthier simply observed them, curled together so serenely. How easy it seemed to be for them to be so affectionate and loving! It was strange, seeing Penelo's delicate features mirrored in the face of their daughter – and the sight of them together like that made him wish he had a place in their happy little group.

But, no. That place belonged to Larsa, now.

In a few minutes, Ellie was fast asleep. Penelo gently detangled herself from her daughter's grip, rising carefully from the bed so as not to wake the child. She bent down to brush a kiss against Ellie's cheek, murmuring a soft "good night".

Balthier left Ellie's bedroom ahead of Penelo and watched as she dismissed the nursemaid for the night, then entered her own adjoining bedroom. He slipped into her bedroom just before the door closed, wanting a few moments with her when they could be truly alone. Though perhaps she did not want him around Ellie, he had a right to his own child – especially if she wished to see him, in return. He did not want to betray Ellie's trust in him by abandoning her. Surely, they could work out some sort of arrangement – Penelo need never see him if she didn't wish it. After all, he'd managed to avoid detection for weeks already.

He prepared to cast off his invisibility – but Penelo, unaware of her audience, reached behind her to catch the zipper holding up her gown, drawing it slowly down to the small of her back. Balthier watched, captivated, as the fabric parted, revealing the smooth, bare flesh beneath it, and all thoughts of Ellie and revealing his presence to Penelo slipped from his mind.

Though she could have managed easier had she had some assistance, Penelo did not particularly like being dressed and undressed by servants as though she were a doll to play with. To the chagrin of her chambermaids, she insisted on being left alone to dress unless they'd been specifically summoned – some things were best done in private. She shoved the heavy gown over her hips, wriggling a little to free herself of the clinging fabric.

Balthier stifled a groan as she stepped out of the pool of fabric, in just a lacy pair of panties and a corset. He didn't know why she wore one – her breasts were perfect without it, her waist already small. How did one improve on perfection?

Quite suddenly he realized his train of thought – of course, Penelo was not perfect. He had seen more beautiful, more shapely women. There were plenty who were more sophisticated, more cultured, more educated, more worldly, more _everything_. But he didn't want them.

He wanted _Penelo_.

She wasn't _Larsa's _perfect complement; she was _his_.

The woman who'd known all his faults and loved him despite them, the woman who'd carried his child beneath her heart for nine months, and had raised her beautifully. The woman who had never attempted to tie him down because she had known how important his freedom was to him. The woman he had never stopped wanting, despite the years and the circumstances that separated them.

Perhaps Ellie had been correct – perhaps he'd been 'accidentally' falling in love with Penelo all the while, and had just never known it.

And in a few days, she would be marrying another man – because he had never given her a reason not to.

Unconsciously, he found himself reaching for her. She had just loosened the ribbons of the corset and was slipping the garment off as his fingers closed over her shoulder. Instantly she turned, flinging out her palm as she cast Dispel. He felt the magical barrier being ripped away, watched her eyes widen even as his other arm slipped about her waist. Surprise made her slow to react – it wasn't until he was bending to kiss her that she even managed to speak.

"_Balthier_? What are you –"

His lips stifled the rest of her query – though he was fairly certain he knew what she was asking. Perhaps, after the way he'd lost his temper with her earlier, she had not expected to see him again. But she wasn't pushing him away as she'd done earlier in the evening – no, her hands, which had been clenched into fists, slowly relaxed and settled on his shoulders. She came easily to him as he urged her closer, her soft, bare breasts crushed against the fabric of his shirt. He kept one arm firmly about her waist – should she attempt to flee – and with his free hand he plucked pins and petals from her hair until the whole mass came tumbling down her shoulders in an unruly wave of curls. He imagined that what it had taken only seconds for him to destroy had likely taken hours to curl and pin up.

Carefully he lifted her into his arms, slipping one arm beneath her knees to support her, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue when he had to break the kiss to do so. Her eyes were closed, lost in a haze of sensual bliss. Even when he laid her gently on a nearby sofa and followed her down, covering her body with his own, she made a place for him and wrapped her arms around his neck as he laid a trail of tender kisses down her collarbone.

"Penelo," he murmured huskily, slipping his fingers beneath her lacy panties in a subtle attempt to ease them off of her, "don't marry him."

Penelo froze, her eyes opening in shock. "Wh-what?"

Balthier grimaced, realizing he'd broken the sensual spell he'd woven over her – but he plunged ahead anyway. It was too late to go back. "Don't marry Larsa," he said.

As if only just realizing the predicament into which she'd gotten herself, Penelo shoved at his shoulders. "Off! _Get off_!" Pinned beneath him, she could only wriggle futilely.

"Penelo…" He grabbed her flailing wrists. "Perhaps I spoke poorly just now, but listen for a moment. Don't marry Larsa – you don't love him."

She glared hatefully up at him. "There are other reasons to marry besides love."

"Not for you," he retorted. "If you love me still, do not marry Larsa. Why are you so eager to go to one man when you love another?"

"Why not? Should I spend my life hoping for the impossible? I can be content with Larsa. If I don't love him, so much the better. He can't hurt me." She tried to get leverage with her feet, but he swiftly pinned her legs with one of his own.

Desperation and frustration forced him to speak. "Perhaps I love you."

She went very still for a moment – then she erupted in a flurry of movement, kicking with a fury that surprised him. Worried she might hurt herself – or him – he released her, and she darted across the room, snatching up a robe and throwing it on, belting it about her waist.

"How _could_ you be so cruel?" She whispered finally, subdued. Her back was to him, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed.

Startled by her unanticipated onset of melancholy, he approached hesitantly. Shouldn't she be _happy_? He reached for her "Penelo…"

"Get out." A shuddering sob escaped her. "Get out and never, ever come back."

Somehow, it had all gone wrong. Aware that he would have to tread carefully, he touched her silky hair gently. "Please, tell me how I have offended you."

She whirled, infuriated. Her cheeks were flushed with angry color, her lips trembled with her rage. "Do you think I can be bought with empty words? Do you think I value myself so cheaply? You don't know the first thing about love, Balthier, so don't think you can sway me with your pretty speeches. _Get out_."

She didn't believe him! Perversely angered that after he had finally admitted to such a loathsome emotion she had chosen not to accept it, he caught her arm when she would have turned away. "What about Ellie?"

From the mutinous tilt of her chin, he guessed she had anticipated such a question. "What about her? In a few days she will be Larsa's daughter. She's no longer your concern."

"She's my daughter; of course she is my concern!"

She waved dismissively, effortlessly imitating Larsa's regal air. "Consider yourself absolved of all paternal responsibilities," she said. "Now leave immediately."

"No, I –"

"Get out, or I will immobilize you, summon the guards, and let Larsa decide in which prison to confine you for the remainder of your days," she hissed.

There was a brief contest of the wills while he attempted to determine whether or not she would actually go through with her threat. When she began to murmur the incantation, he decided she would and released her to stalk furiously towards the door, cursing eloquently.

"Don't come back," she ordered. "Not for Ellie, not for me, not even to irritate Larsa. _Never_."

He slammed the door on his way, and instantly regretted it – a moment later Ellie's door opened and her little blonde head poked through the door.

"Papa?"

He grimaced, crossing the toy-strewn nursery to where she stood in her doorway. "I fear this is goodbye for now, Ellie," he said softly. "Just for a little while. Not forever."

"Did Mama get very mad at you?" She asked.

"_Very _mad," he confirmed. "Not to worry – the leading man always comes out the winner in the end. Go back to sleep, now."

Mollified, she turned and went back into her bedroom. Balthier slipped out of the nursery, making haste out of the palace. He had no idea what he was going to do – but he did know he had very little time left in which to do it.

--

Though it ought to have been a joyous occasion, Penelo was strangely quiet during their early-afternoon picnic. While Ellie happily chattered and chased after the little striped kitten Larsa had given her, Larsa was worried that perhaps something had occurred between Penelo and Balthier that she had failed to disclose to him. Though he did not worry about her faithfulness to him – Penelo had made a promise to him, and he had no doubt that she would keep it – he did not like to see her brooding so. He wanted there to be truth between them – he knew she did not yet love him, but she hoped that eventually she would learn to love him at least a little.

"Do you still love him?" he asked quietly, while Ellie happily bounded over the grass, out of earshot.

Penelo slanted him a regretful look. "Don't ask me that, Larsa, please."

"I'm not angry. I simply want to know if there is a chance for us to live happily together. Perhaps I'm a little jealous," he said, his lips twisting wryly.

She hesitated. "Of course I love him. I think no matter what, there is a part of me that will always love him. But…I think I can love you, too."

She did not have to say it, but he knew – he would always come second to Balthier. He sighed.

"Balthier came to my room last night," she said softly. She averted her eyes guiltily – and Larsa knew something had indeed transpired between them. "I didn't…I didn't sleep with him, but…"

But she had probably wanted to. As much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't bring himself to it – it seemed Penelo felt guilty enough for whatever had occurred between her and Balthier already. And if she was sharing it with him, it surely couldn't be bad news.

She drew her knees up, locking her arms around them and resting her chin atop them. "I told him never to come back." Her voice trembled a little. "I told him if he didn't leave, I'd call the guards and have him tossed in prison."

For Penelo to have said something like that – especially to Balthier – he must have done something very bad…or very stupid, knowing Balthier.

"What did he do that so displeased you?" Larsa eased closer, settling an arm over her slender shoulders, drawing her against him. She leaned into his embrace, ducking her head.

"He said he _loved _me."

He could hear the spite in her voice, see the lingering anger and hurt in her eyes. The significance of her words sunk in. "_Balthier _said…?"

A curt nod. "That stupid, stupid, _stupid _man." Her face turned against his shoulder, drying her tears on his sleeve. "How could he think I'd believe something like that?" She managed a shaky laugh, pushing away from him gently. "I'm okay," she said. "It just…really hurt me, that's all." She gave him a half-hearted smile. "You probably think it's silly to cry over something like that."

He didn't. And he couldn't bring himself to tell her that he didn't think Balthier had been lying – after all, Penelo was _his _fiancée. What right did Balthier have to go confessing love to her, after all?

"Uncle Larsa!" Ellie sauntered up, clutching her striped kitten to her chest. "Thank you for my kitten. I'm going to call her Princess."

"You're quite welcome," he said, patting the blanket beside him. "Come, sit and have some lunch. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, yes." She tore a few bits of cluckatrice into fine shreds and piled it before the kitten, who tucked into its meal greedily. "But, I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?"

"Is it okay if I still call you Uncle Larsa instead of Papa? I already have a Papa, my _real _papa, and…I think it makes him sad when I call you Papa instead of him." She picked at some imaginary lint on the blanket, awaiting his response.

"Your real papa? You mean…?" He slanted Penelo an inquisitive look, and she gave a brief nod.

So. It seemed Penelo wasn't the only one Balthier had been visiting. He took a deep breath.

"Of course, you may certainly call me whatever you wish," he said. "You'll still be my little girl." Somehow, Balthier had won over even his daughter who initially had not liked him at all. Larsa wondered how Balthier, so uninterested in children, had managed to work his way into Ellie's affections – for a while she'd been quite vocal in her dislike of the man.

"My Papa said he made Mama mad and that he'd have to go away for a while," Ellie said. "But he'll be back. He said so. Mama, when you're not mad at Papa anymore, can I go for a ride on his airship? He said he'd take me if you said it was okay."

Penelo shook her head. "I don't think it's a good idea, sweetheart," she said. "Your real papa…he's not…well, it's just that I don't think it would be very good for you to spend too much time with him. I don't think he knows anything about being a father." And really…she didn't want to set Ellie up for the kind of disappointment and hurt that she had suffered.

"But he can learn, Mama." Ellie laid down on the blanket, dropping her head in Penelo's lap.

"I don't think –"

"He can! Remember when I was trying to learn my letters, and you said all I had to do was practice? My papa just needs practice, Mama. He never had a little girl before so he still needs to learn how to be a good papa. Didn't you have to learn how to be a good mama?" Ellie looked up at Penelo appealingly, and Penelo grimaced, finding herself ruthlessly backed into a corner by her own precocious five-year-old.

"Well, you see…"

"We have to help him, though. He said he didn't have a mama like you when he was little and that nobody ever loved him before. But _I _love him – and you do, too, don't you, Mama?" Without waiting for a response, Ellie twisted around and climbed fully into Penelo's lap. "Everyone should have a mama like you," she said. "And my papa needs someone to love him, so you can't make him stay away forever, Mama. You just _can't_."

Penelo's heart wrenched in her chest, and she damned Balthier again – not content to cut her heart out of her chest, he'd had to go and steal Ellie's as well.


	17. Chapter 17

Short of kidnapping, Balthier was fresh out of ideas. And, as attractive as the thought was, he didn't doubt that Larsa would send a whole brigade of Imperial soldiers after him should he make off with Penelo and Ellie – not to mention that Penelo herself would likely be very displeased.

His stomach turned. Through his own folly and ignorance, he had practically forced her into Larsa's arms, and it was only now that he had realized what he had thrown away that he was overcome with remorse – he had hurt Penelo so badly that she thought it impossible for him to love her, impossible for him to love their daughter.

And so he had less than three days to decide what to do – for if he allowed Penelo to marry Larsa in her present state of mind, he felt certain that she would never allow him near her again. She would harden her heart against him, and he would lose her forever.

---

"I think you are making a mistake."

Penelo – who was going through the last of her many fittings for her wedding gown – grimaced as Ashe launched into a familiar speech. And she, Ashe's captive audience, would be forced to sit through the whole thing again.

"Marrying Larsa will not make you happy. Penelo, you have never cared for this sort of life – why, if you hate it so, would you enter into it? Politics will play a big part in your marriage and in your life from here on out. You will constantly have to guard your tongue and see that Ellie guards hers. Your time will not be your own. If Larsa should fall out of favor with his people, you will be in very real danger." Ashe splayed her hands out appealingly – but she had been trying to talk some sense into Penelo since yesterday, and it had not yet worked.

"_You _had a political marriage," Penelo grumbled irritably.

"And no doubt Rasler and I would have been very happy together," Ashe acknowledged. "But I _loved _him, Penelo – can you say the same about Larsa? Honestly?"

Penelo set her jaw stubbornly. "I _will_ be happy with him," she said firmly, as though she could will herself into the emotion. "Isn't this every little girl's dream, to marry a handsome prince? Or Emperor, in Larsa's case," she amended.

Ashe's lips pursed unhappily. "What about falling in love and living happily ever after?"

Penelo's shoulders fell, and she couldn't quite wipe the dejected expression from her face. "Oh, Ashe," she sighed. "You know as well as I do that happily ever afters are hard to come by. Sometimes we settle. Love isn't everything."

Ashe surveyed the younger woman cheerlessly. She was so young to be so jaded, too young to have lost her hope for a happy ending. "For you, it should be," she murmured.

Both women fell silent – Ashe finally realized that nothing she could say would deter Penelo from her chosen path, and Penelo was glad to be given a reprieve from the lectures that made her stomach twist with uncertainty for her own future. She was doing the right thing – the only thing. She'd given Larsa her promise. She would do her best to be a good wife to him. And even if she could never fall in love with him, they would at least remain friends.

But the thought did not cheer her in the least.

---

Larsa could not say he was particularly surprised when Ashe burst through the door of his private office the next morning, wearing an expression of extreme annoyance.

Without preamble, she placed her hands on her hips and launched into a scathing tirade.

"I came for a wedding because I thought this was supposed to be a joyous occasion between two people who had grown to love one another. It feels more like an execution! What do you mean, marrying Penelo when she does not love you?"

Larsa winced – he had not known Penelo's apathy would be so apparent. "I asked her to marry me. She accepted." He stood. "I know she does not love me. In time –"

"_In time _she will grow to hate you for forcing her into a loveless marriage because she agreed to marry you in a fit of pique!" Ashe countered ruthlessly. "_In time _you will grow to resent her for failing to love you as you imagine she ought to! She is not in love with you. She will _never _be in love with you. If you marry her, you will both be miserable."

She'd never been one to mince words, but she usually managed at least a modicum of tact – that she chose not to use it proved her displeasure and aggravation.

"We're friends," he said. "We will have a good marriage. I love Penelo; it will be enough."

"So you will make _her_ miserable for your own happiness?" She scoffed. "That is not love, Larsa – that is selfishness. If you would consign her to a life she will abhor because it suits your desires, you do not truly love her." Her voice softened just a little. "Penelo deserves happiness. _You _deserve happiness. But I do not think you will find it with one another. I implore you to stop this foolishness before it is too late."

It was already too late – Penelo had given her word, and Larsa was in love – and yes, selfish – enough not to release her from a promise made in desperation.

His fingers bit into the wood frame of his desk. "Penelo is an adult, free to make her own decisions. You do her a great disservice with your protests. Would you deny her the right to choose her own path? Do you imply she is incapable of deciding for herself?"

Ashe would not be baited. "I deny _you_ the opportunity to make her miserable," she retorted. "As much as I dislike the idea, it is _Balthier _that Penelo loves, and so it is only he who can truly make her happy."

Larsa scoffed, waving away the idea as though it were an annoying insect. "Bah. If he is kept from her, over time she will transfer those affections to me. It is only natural that she should love her husband, and Penelo is nothing if not loyal."

Ashe seethed with emotion, which alarmed Larsa. The stoic Queen rarely showed her anger so obviously. At once she snatched up the tankard of coffee which had been sitting upon his desk, flinging the lukewarm contents into his face. Shocked, he swiped the liquid out of his eyes.

"_Bastard_," she hissed, her chest heaving with rage. "I have loved only one man – _will_ only ever love one man. Though our time was short, he was precious to me – but my duty to my crown and country requires that I marry again to beget an heir for Dalmasca. Penelo's beloved is alive and well – if you wed her while she loves another, it would be a fate worse than death. Though he yet lives, she will never be able to see him, to touch him, to –" Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes briefly. When they opened, they were filled with resolve. "Love is too precious a thing to throw away. I will not stand idly by and bear witness to this mockery of a marriage. I have said my piece. I only hope you will come to your senses before it is too late."

And she swept out of his office, fury and indignation evident in every rigid line of her body.

Larsa frowned as a droplet of coffee slipped off the end of his nose. It seemed as though Ashe was living vicariously through Penelo, and she was infuriated that the love and happiness which had passed her by would be willingly sacrificed by her younger counterpart – and it was not exactly an ideal situation to be in the ill graces of a monarch of a neighboring country. Though he felt certain that Ashe would come around eventually, it did not sit well with him that she was so openly opposed to their marriage.

Also worrisome was the fact that Penelo had stopped attending meetings of state with him. While he knew she found them extraordinarily boring, her presence had been pleasant and soothing to him. He forced himself to be patient – there would be time later for her to gain an interest in politics, time later for her to perform her royal duties. Now he simply needed to reassure her, to show her that he would make her happy, that he would take care of her and Ellie.

He called for a servant to fetch him a clean shirt and a towel, then slung his coffee-soaked shirt near the door for removal. Perhaps the best way to do that would be to put his own duties on a brief hiatus – after all, their wedding was mere days away – and spend some quality time with them.

---

Ellie was in her nursery when he found her, with a model airship tucked under one arm and her kitten tucked under the other. Though the trapped feline wriggled, its escape efforts proved futile.

"Hello, darling." Larsa ruffled her hair fondly, signaling to the nursemaid to take her leave. "Where's your Mama?"

Ellie shrugged, her lips pursing into a pout. "Don't know," she said. "She's always busy with something." Her shoulders fell despondently. "Last night she forgot to tuck me in."

Larsa winced – he'd forgotten, too. And after they'd made a promise to the girl! "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I won't forget again."

She looked at him with wary eyes. "You shouldn't say things you don't mean," she said. "My papa said so." She sighed, a forlorn sound. "You'll forget again. Mama will forget again." Setting her shoulders, she said, "It's okay. I don't need to be tucked in, anyway. I'm a big girl, now. 'Sides, if I ask my papa, he'll do it."

Larsa did not like the sound of that – so far Balthier had proved his ability to flout Palace security at every turn. He did not want Balthier skulking about like a thief in the night, stealing Ellie's affections…or Penelo's.

"Here." Ellie thrust the wriggling kitten at him. "You can hold Princess."

Maybe it was a gesture of forgiveness for forgetting her. He took hold of the scrawny animal, wincing as it sunk its tiny fangs into his thumb, chewing viciously. Grabbing the bit of fluff by the scruff of the neck, he glared down at it. It glared back at him with narrowed gray eyes, drew back its ears and hissed.

"I don't think Princess likes you very much, Uncle Larsa," Ellie observed, making swishing sounds as she swooped the model airship through the air. Funny, he thought, it looked just like…like the _Strahl_. His hands curled into fists. He was losing at every turn, and to a man who had spent five years avoiding Penelo and ignorant of the fact that he had a daughter. A beautiful, charming child – how _could_ Balthier have gotten so lucky? How was it that he – an Emperor, rich beyond imagining – could not possess the means make Penelo and her daughter happy?

"Would you like to be a Princess, too, Ellie?" He asked. It was his firm belief that every girl, at some point or another, dreamed of being a princess.

But she shook her head absently, eyes glued to that brilliant, gleaming model airship. "No, thank you," she said.

Taken aback, he said, "You wouldn't? Then, what do you want to be?"

"A sky pirate!" She said at once. "Just like my papa."

He stifled a groan – Penelo was going to be _thrilled _over that idea.

Abruptly, she turned. "Why don't you like my papa, Uncle Larsa?" Her intriguing green eyes watched him with interest, at once curious and cautious.

"What gives you the idea that I don't like him, pet?" Had he said something to her? Had he slipped up and made some off-handed remark? Not that he actually _did _like the man, but he knew children often saw their parents as an extension of themselves, and it was likely that Ellie would take such criticism to heart.

"Mama told my papa that you would put him in prison _forever_." She set her airship on a small table, then sat down, tucking her legs beneath her. "And she told him not _ever _to come back." Her lower lip trembled. "I don't want my papa to go away, Uncle Larsa. I don't want you to put him in prison, either." Suddenly she launched herself into his arms, flinging her arms around his neck and tucking her head beneath his chin. "_Please _don't put my papa in prison."

He stroked her soft blonde hair, kissing the top of her head and wondered – would she plead _his_ case so prettily? Obviously, Ellie had grown remarkably attached to the father she had only recently met – would she ever love Larsa as she loved Balthier? He knew without a doubt, despite her parentage, he would love Ellie as if she were his daughter. The fact that she was Balthier's daughter mattered not at all to him, though he supposed it ought to have mattered. But all he saw when he looked at her was a sweet, delicate face – a childish version of Penelo's. And of course he would adore the child of the woman he loved – regardless of who her father was.

"I would never put your father in prison, Ellie," he found himself saying. Surprisingly, he found himself actually _meaning _the promise. He never wanted to do anything to hurt Ellie; he wanted to protect her above all things. And if that meant tolerating her miserable excuse for a father, then…so be it. But he dreaded it just the same, for while felt he could trust Penelo, he knew without a doubt that he _could not _trust Balthier.

---

"Absolutely not."

"Penelo, just –"

"_No_! I will _not _have my daughter around that…that…" Penelo's fists clenched as she struggled for words bad enough to call him. "That lecherous, scheming _pirate_."

He resisted the urge to point out that she was hardly one to talk. Faced with Penelo's rage, Larsa wondered why he was lobbying so fiercely for Balthier – and remembered he wasn't lobbying for Balthier, he was lobbying for _Ellie_. "Ellie wants to see him."

"Ellie is _five_. She also wants to eat chocolate ice cream every day. Just because she _wants _it doesn't make it _good _for her." She tugged at her bangs in frustration, pacing around the carpet before Larsa's desk. "How could you _possibly _think this is a good idea?"

"I don't." Larsa pinched the bridge of his nose. "I _don't _think it's a good idea. But Ellie wants to see him, and he's obviously been good to her. Penelo, it would break her heart if she could never see him again. She _loves _him."

"She doesn't know him!" She threw her hands in the air. "She'll forget about him in a few weeks!" Distress pinched her lips into a frown and drew her eyebrows together in consternation. He wondered if she was more worried about Balthier's effect on Ellie or Balthier's affect on _her_.

"Do you _really _think that?"

Penelo deflated at the sound of Larsa's calm, censorious tone. Wringing her fingers, she hesitated – she did not want Balthier anywhere near them, not when it was so close to her wedding day. Not when she still had doubts. She wanted to be safely married before she ever saw him again. Safely out of his reach.

"I…I just don't…I don't want Ellie to get hurt. I don't want to see Balthier."

"Obviously, it wouldn't be anytime soon," Larsa said. "Not before the wedding, at least." He managed to sound remarkably casual and unconcerned, though he didn't miss her relieved expression and the soft sigh that escaped her at the words. He suppressed his disappointment. It was hardly Penelo's fault that she was in love with the man – he was quite sure she was regretting her foolish emotions right now.

Still, his gut clenched – her lips were pinched, her face strained, her eyes worried. Her whole body language bespoke intense concern and anxiety. She didn't deserve such suffering.

He quashed his personal worries to clasp her by the shoulders, kissing her forehead. "We will speak of it later," he assured her. "Don't worry."

She nodded, smiling half-heartedly. "I…I have to go…see Ellie."

"Go, then. I will join you for dinner." He ushered her out of the room, then sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He had to come to some decision, and quickly – what was he going to _do_?

---

A feeling of unease settled over Penelo as she hurried back to her rooms. She had the strangest sensation of being watched – though she supposed even if someone (namely Balthier) had managed to Vanish themselves, she still ought to be able to hear the sound of footsteps.

She tried to shake the feeling – she was likely just paranoid. And after all, Balthier had been told in no uncertain terms what fate awaited him if he should come back to the palace. Surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to – no, absolutely not. Arrogant he might be, but foolish, he most certainly was not.

So preoccupied was she that when a slight chill overtook her, for a moment she thought it was merely that – it wasn't until she tried to call out for Ellie that she recognized it for what it was – a spell. She'd been _silenced. _And again, that same chill slid over her and her feet rooted to the floor. Her breath caught in her throat and escaped on a silent cry. Furious, helpless, she twisted about, frantically searching for the culprit.

"I've improved significantly, have I not?" A warm chuckle followed the blank statement from behind her. Balthier calmly stepped around her, only just managing to quell his smug smirk. "Now, now, darling girl, don't fuss. It's unbecoming."

She lunged, her fingers curving into claws. He caught her hands, linking the fingers of his right hand with her left, and bringing her right hand to his lips. He held her eyes, brushing his lips against the pulse that fluttered at her wrist. "Turn about is fair play, wouldn't you agree? I must confess, I rather enjoy having you at my mercy."

His words provoked her ire again – somehow, when he'd been kissing her wrist, she'd managed to forget she wanted to claw his eyes out. Still, there was only so much she could manage with only her hands available to her. And he, so much stronger than she, managed to pin her arms to her sides while her slipped his arms around her. He crushed her against him, slipping his fingers into her hair, urging her to face him. Twisting this way and that, she refused to let him kiss her mouth, so he contented himself with the smooth curve of her cheek, her temple, anywhere else his lips could reach.

"So stubborn," he murmured in her ear, tenderly brushing her disheveled hair from her face. "Is it so hard for you to believe that I might care for you?" He touched his forehead to hers. "I am…unaccustomed to caring about anything, Penelo. This is by no means easy for me to come to terms with. And I suppose it is also true that if I had to choose a wife, it would not have been you, though not for the reasons you might suspect. You are too good, too young…you deserve better than I. I have done nothing to deserve you, to deserve Ellie – but I am too selfish to simply let you go to Larsa."

Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs, disallowed even the release of noisy wailing. She wrenched her arms beneath his, shoving him away, shuddering as she felt the chill of the silence spell draining away.

Her distress tore at him, the wracking sobs squeezing his heart in his chest. But still he held out his hand – "Come away with me," he said. "You and Ellie. I want you both. Please believe me."

She turned her head away from him, closing her eyes. "Can't you stop hurting me? Can't you just…just let me try to be happy?"

"I can make you happy. Won't you let me try?" He moved closer, but the spell immobilizing her had also worn away and she stumbled backwards.

"No. Just…no. I can't go through being deserted again. I'm just…so tired, Balthier. I'm getting married in a few days. Please just let us be." She turned away, pressing the backs of her hands to her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She loved him – but she couldn't trust him, and that hurt more than anything. A muffled sob slipped out, her shoulders trembling. She looked so small and fragile. Hurting her hurt him – but he couldn't give up. She'd loved him once; he believed she still did. His hands cupped her shoulders, thumbs stroking the smooth skin there.

"I have never begged for anything in my life," he said, "but I will gladly go to my knees if it will convince you of my sincerity."

Her shoulder stiffened beneath his hands. She turned to speak, probably to deliver some scathing comment judging by her expression – but before she could say anything, the door to her chamber burst open. Penelo jerked away from him just as a cluster of well-armed guards entered. Six guns leapt from holsters, trained on Balthier. He didn't imagine he would get more than two shots from his own weapon before one of the men put a bullet in his brain, so he didn't see the use in even attempting it.

A guard spoke to Penelo, but kept his gun and his eyes trained firmly on Balthier. "Lady Penelo, are you harmed?"

"No." Her voice was strained. He saw her fingers flit across her face, wiping away the last vestiges of her distress. When next she spoke, her voice was firmer – remote, detached, completely disinterested. "No, I'm fine. Please remove this intruder at once." She didn't so much as glance in his direction.

"Of course, my lady." Another guard approached, quickly divested Balthier of his weapon, then jerked his arms roughly behind his back, shackling his wrists together. He was shoved forward, towards the door from which the guards had entered so abruptly.

Penelo turned her back - despite her protestations to the contrary, she didn't _really _want to see Balthier thrown in prison. "Hold a moment," she said.

Obediently, the guards paused in escorting Balthier from the room. "My Lady?"

She set her shoulders resolutely, turning to face him once again. She schooled her features into a blank, nonchalant expression. "Swear you'll never return, and I'll plead your case with Larsa," she said. "I'll see to it that you do not end up back in the depths of Nalbina Fortress."

He shrugged as much as his shackles would allow. "I'm afraid I can't do that, darling."

Her mouth dropped open. "_What_?"

"Just as you have always come for me, so shall I always come for you." His lips twisted in a wry grin. "A temporary setback, nothing more, I assure you, my dear." Then he turned from her. "Shall we, gentlemen? I believe I have a cell awaiting me."

"Oh, no, there will be no mere cell for you." The guard pressed the barrel of his gun between Balthier's shoulder blades, chuckling darkly as he shoved Balthier from the room. "You've infiltrated the palace grounds, used magic in an attempt to conceal yourself, and wielded magic upon the Lady Penelo. Lord Larsa suspected you would not be easily deterred. It's _him _you're going to see, pirate. And I doubt he will be inclined to be merciful."

It was a rather long, uncomfortable walk for Balthier, who was unaccustomed to being on the wrong end of a pistol. He'd had his share of scrapes over the years, but it was disconcerting that this time he'd willingly walked into a situation he'd known was likely to end up in captivity. And all over Penelo. How she'd managed to become such an essential part of his life, he still didn't know – but he did know that he would likely find himself in many such similar situations until she capitulated.

They paused in front of Larsa's private study, the guards surrounding him on all sides lest he try to flee – as if he could, helpless as he was with his hands bound behind his back.

One of them knocked briefly on the door. "We've captured him, my lord."

Larsa's voice, cool and distant, responded. "Very good. Bring him in."

The guard opened the door, escorted Balthier within, and thrust him into a chair before Larsa's desk.

Larsa waved dismissively at the guards. "You may go."

They obeyed at once, without question, leaving Balthier bound and annoyed at being left so in the younger man's company. He stretched out his long legs, insolently propping his boots atop Larsa's desk. "Your hospitality leaves much to be desired."

Larsa toyed with a fountain pen, his face stern and forbidding as he observed the other man. "Well, Balthier," he said finally. "What am I to do with you?"


	18. Chapter 18

The morning of the wedding dawned cold and bleak. What should have been a bright summer's day had turned out an outer manifestation of Penelo's inner turmoil – dark, roiling clouds obscured the normally bright blue sky, and the window panes were nearly fogged over.

She hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. Filled with dread over her approaching nuptials, Penelo had tossed and turned all the night through, for no sooner did her eyes close than her head was filled with grim prophecies of her future in Archades, as Empress Consort. And as soon as she dragged herself from her bed that morning, she knew – _she could not marry Larsa_.

Somehow the knowledge filled her with a measure of relief as well as trepidation. Though she did not relish telling Larsa that she would not be proceeding with the ceremony, she felt incredibly freed by her decision – no more state dinners, no more fancy balls, no more shoes that pinched her feet, no more toadying nobles. No more separation from Ellie. They could go back to Dalmasca, back to life before Larsa's proposal, before Balthier's reappearance and subsequent unwelcome intrusion into their lives.

Certainly she would not miss the lavish surroundings – she'd come from humble origins, so the costly clothes and priceless treasures that daily surrounded her made her nervous and uncomfortable. She missed the small apartment she had shared with Ellie. Though it lacked such luxurious furnishings, it had been filled with love, and all the comforts of a true home – something Larsa's magnificent palace could never hope to replicate.

She performed her morning ablutions quickly. Unless she missed her guess, someone would be sent into to wake her within the next half an hour or so to begin preparations for the wedding, and she wanted to be on her way to find Larsa before they arrived. Digging through her drawers, she shoved aside the costly silks and satins she'd accumulated in the past months, until her fingers curled around her own plain, lightweight wool pants and a simple corset shirt. She could have thrown them out – Larsa had provided her and Ellie with many beautiful new clothes – but now she was glad she had not. Perhaps she had subconsciously desired an escape route, and she had kept a set of her own clothing in case of just such a circumstance. Whatever the case, her own homespun clothing suited her much better than did Larsa's expensive fabrics.

In just a few moments she was dressed and tugging on the simplest pair of boots she could find. They were still too fine to fit her ensemble, the leather was obviously of excellent quality, and the stitchery was exquisite – but she hadn't the time to search for her own shoes. Still, she regretted taking advantage of Larsa's generosity.

It was still early morning, and she didn't want to wake or alarm Ellie in any way, so she crept silently from the room, traversing the wide hallways alone. She stole a page from Balthier's book and cast a Vanish spell upon herself lest she happen upon any servants looking as she did – it wouldn't do to give rise to gossip and risk her reputation and Larsa's as well.

She passed only a few servants on her way, none of whom seemed in any particular hurry – which was odd, considering that the palace ought to have been in a flurry of activity to ensure that their monarch's wedding came off without a hitch. In short order she reached Larsa's study, rapping her knuckles softly upon the heavy door, and praying he was within.

A moment later she heard his reply.

"Enter," he called.

She hastily dropped her spell, then jerked open the door and scurried inside. Larsa rose from his seat behind his desk as she entered. He looked her over, scrutinizing her clothing. She felt certain he knew the reason she had sought him out.

She tried for a smile, managing only an awkward grimace, twisting her fingers worriedly.

"Larsa, I…"

He shook his head, waving away her anxiety dismissively. "Say no more," he said with forced lightness. "I called it off some days ago."

The tension drained from her shoulders, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Thank you," she breathed. "I'm so sorry, Larsa. I thought…I thought I could go through with it until this morning. But it wouldn't be fair. To _either _of us." She fairly trembled with relief. "I'm sorry. I just can't love you like that. It would be cruel to marry you when I have nothing to offer you."

He looked about to argue, but stopped himself, shaking his head. Giving her a pained smile, he stepped around his desk, putting his hands on her shoulders to draw her into his arms. She went willingly – there was nothing remotely threatening about his warm embrace. He held her much like a beloved relation, comforting rather than demanding.

"I will miss you when you go, of course," he said. "You know you will always be welcome here, should you choose to return." His warm fingers stroked her hair, and she turned her face into his chest. Regret for hurting him welled up in her chest – she ought never have agreed to wed him. A decision made to spite Balthier had ended up hurting someone who had always been a true friend to her.

"I will wait for you," he said. "A year, perhaps two. Just to be certain. If you decide…" he hesitated. "If you change your mind…I will be waiting."

He spoke as though he knew something she did not, and the thought made her uneasy and anxious. "What are you saying?" She protested, trying for a laugh.

His face was very grave, and he was no longer looking at her – rather, his eyes were fixed over her shoulder. She turned, following his gaze, and blanched.

Balthier stood perhaps twenty feet away, his face shuttered as he watched the scene with passive disinterest. A sleeping Ellie was held in his arms, wrapped in her blankets, her face pillowed on his shoulder. Penelo's heart jerked in her chest, then began to beat frantically.

She stared uncomprehendingly, her fingers curling into Larsa's starched shirtfront. "What…?"

Larsa's arms tightened around her as though he knew her knees were trembling. "We have reached an agreement," he said at last. "You and Ellie will go with Balthier for a time."

"No!" She gasped. "Larsa, why are you doing this? You _know _how I feel about him!"

He gave her a measured look. "I know that often what you say and what you mean are two very different things," he said softly.

She tore away from him, her chest heaving with quick, angry breaths. "You can't make me do this!" She stamped her foot. "What gives you the right? I'm not a pet! I don't belong to anyone; you can't just trade me off as though I were a toy that has outlived its usefulness! I _won't _go!"

Larsa called for his steward, and a few moments later the man entered. "Please have Miss Penelo and her daughter's belongings packed and taken aboard the _Strahl_," he said.

"Just the essentials and irreplaceables, if you please," Balthier added tightly. "I can provide for them."

"I don't _need _anyone to provide for me!" Penelo backed away, enraged that neither man seemed to be paying any attention to her. She lifted a glass inkwell off of Larsa's desk, watching the dark liquid swirl mesmerizingly within. She hurled it across the room – it hit a wall with a magnificent crash, flinging ink everywhere. "_That _for your presumption!" She snapped.

The noise woke Ellie, who raised her head sleepily. "Papa? What happened?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, darling. Your mama is having something of a tantrum. Go back to sleep." He urged her head back against his shoulder, but Ellie was not so easily dismissed.

"Mama is coming with us, isn't she? You said she would come, too." A vaguely petulant expression crossed her face.

"Of course she is coming with us," Balthier assured the child, and something in his voice dared her to argue. "I would not dream of leaving her behind."

His voice, so tender when he spoke to their daughter, held a note of steel that had Penelo's spine straightening with indignation.

"We're _not _going," she said crisply. "Ellie, please go get dressed. We'll pack our things and be back to Rabanastre before noon if you hurry."

"No!" Ellie wriggled in Balthier's arms, clutching tight to his neck. "I don't want to go to Rabanastre, I want to go live on the _Strahl _with my papa! He said I could!"

Penelo's heart wrenched – never in her short life had Ellie once countermanded her. That she did it now for Balthier's sake hurt more than Penelo cared to admit.

"We're going," she forced herself to say firmly. "_Now_, Ellie."

"I think that's for the best," she heard Larsa say from behind her. "I hope, in time, you will forgive me."

She turned, confused, just in time to see his determined face as the creeping chill of magic swept over her. She tried to speak, but her muscles relaxed, her eyes closed, and her mind fogged. Larsa caught her before she slipped bonelessly to the floor.

"Mama!" Ellie gasped, wriggling from Balthier's arms. "Mama, are you okay?"

Balthier winced to hear the distress in her tone. Perhaps it would have been best to have her secreted aboard the _Strahl _beforehand – but he had not anticipated that such measures would have been necessary.

"She's fine," Balthier said as Larsa transferred Penelo into his arms. "She's simply asleep. Come, now, stay close by me. We'll get you aboard the _Strahl _before your mama wakes up."

Larsa clenched his jaw, obviously collecting himself before he spoke. "Remember our agreement," he said. "Half a year, no more. You have the freedom of the skies until then. I expect you to return within that time to hear her decision from Penelo herself. And if she chooses to go, you will let her leave and cease your pursuit."

Balthier inclined his head. "Half a year," he acknowledged. "We'll return to Archades then. I expect Ellie will wish to see you."

Larsa closed his eyes briefly – a moment of mourning for the wife and daughter he might've had. When they opened, they were cold and full of resolve. "Should you fail to return within that time, you will find your safe passage papers revoked and will find yourself a wanted man once again," he reminded Balthier. He sank back in his chair, covering his face with one hand, motioning a dismissal with the other. "Go. Quickly," he said. The words _before I change my mind_ did not have to be spoken, but lingered in the air as if they had.

Flanked closely by the guards that Larsa had sent, Ellie and Balthier were escorted to Larsa's private dock where the _Strahl _awaited. A few servants hurried about, loading Penelo and Ellie's things. Larsa walked with them up the ramp onto the ship and waited as Balthier deposited Penelo safely into an already-prepared bedchamber. He was not fool enough to move her into his own chamber – when she awoke, she would be as like to run him through as look at him, and until she calmed a bit, he feared it could be hazardous to his health to have her near while he slept.

Ellie darted about, discovering all the areas of his ship, wondrously excited to be aboard this most famous of all airships. She tromped about, exclaiming over her own newly-discovered bedchamber, directing the servants where to place her belongs, and setting her beloved model airship in a place of honor on the nightstand beside her bed.

Balthier allowed her a little freedom to explore without hanging over her and instead kept watch over Penelo, lying so still and peaceful on the rose-hued coverlet he'd chosen for her. Within an hour the moving and unpacking had been completed, and he left Penelo just long enough to bring Ellie to the bridge and set a flight course for the Phon Coast. He suspected Ellie had seen little of Ivalice outside of Rabanastre and Archades, and he intended to rectify that as soon as possible – Ellie seemed an explorer at heart and he wanted to nurture her love of adventure and acquaint her with the world beyond the walls she'd lived behind all her life.

Shortly after takeoff, Ellie retired to her bedchamber, freeing Balthier to return to where Penelo yet slept. Though he knew his interference in her life would likely arouse her ire for a time, he hoped that, within the months that Larsa had given him, he would be able to soothe her injured feelings and convince her that her faith in him would not be unfounded.

He winced, however, recalling the harsh words she'd slung at him at their last meeting. To be sure, the road would be long and arduous. He could only hope that whatever Penelo had once felt for him could be nurtured into life once more – that she hadn't fully hardened her heart against him. He had given her no reason to trust in him before, but, by the gods, he would do so henceforth.

---

Penelo awoke some hours later. Midday had long since passed and the sun was making its inexorable descent toward the distant horizon. She awoke with a curious lethargy, a strange unwillingness to move from the warm cocoon of blankets in which she had found herself. Unable to simply fade back into sleep, she stretched, gradually becoming aware of a comforting warmth at her back and a strong, muscular arm wrapped around her waist.

Behind her, Balthier stretched as well, having awakened when her head (which had been pillowed quite comfortably on his chest) had left its position. Rejuvenated with sleep, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and tossed off the covers.

"I imagine we've slept most of the day away," he said conversationally, peering out the window at the wide stretch of ocean.

Penelo's confused gaze darted about the room, lighting on her trunks, doubtless filled with her things from Larsa's palace. "Where is Ellie?" She asked.

"Sleeping, I expect. I told her to come in if she needed anything." Balthier helped her up, noting she still seemed a little woozy and unsteady. "How are you? Headache? Pain anywhere?"

Penelo shook her head, wincing as the room spun. "Dizzy."

"By all means, lay down," he said, urging her down onto the bed. "It will pass. Remnants of the sleep spell, I expect."

"Sleep spell?" She echoed dumbly. Bits and flashes of conversation went through her mind. Her spine stiffened with fury as she recalled the confrontation that had lead to her current situation. "You…you…"

"Not I," he sniffed, offended. "_Larsa_ put you under. I'll say, however, that I did not suspect that the little Lordling had it in him." Clearly he was impressed by Larsa's quick thinking.

"Where are we?" Her senses protested mightily as she whipped her head towards the window, searching for landscape she recognized.

"The Phon Coast. No, don't fling yourself about so, you'll make yourself ill." He held her head in her hands, gazing down at her sternly. "Penelo, darling, don't you think yourself a bit too old for temper tantrums?"

"What does it matter if I'm a hostage? Should I be on my best behavior for a captor?" She shot back furiously.

He winced as the barb struck – obviously her righteous indignation would not easily be calmed. "I prefer the term 'honored guest'," he said.

"Am I free to leave at my discretion, then?" She asked.

It was at that moment that Balthier knew that, aside from locking her up – which he had no desire to do – he could not make her stay. He could not watch her every instant of the day to be sure that she would never escape. There was just one thing he could do.

"Yes," he said. "You may leave whenever you please. I will not hold you hostage here."

"Good," she responded in a clipped tone, slinging her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring how her head spun. "We'll be leaving, then."

"There is just one thing you should know," he said as she headed for the door. "Ellie stays with me."

She whipped around. "_What_?" She gasped, incensed.

"You are welcome to stay or to leave as you choose, of course," he said with forced levity. "But Ellie will stay with me. She wants to travel. She wants to see the world. Come, Penelo. You've had her for five years. Until recently I did not even know I had fathered a child. She wishes to spend time with me, and I with her. Is it so wrong for me to want to know my own daughter?"

"She won't stay with you," she said. "She hardly knows you. She _won't _stay."

Balthier shrugged. "Care to test that theory?" He asked. "She'll be awake shortly, I expect. She'll likely be hungry when she wakes, though, so we ought to return to the kitchen as see about fixing her something for supper." He leaned against the wall, watching a riot of emotions flicker across her lovely face.

"Even if she chooses to stay with me," he said softly, "it won't mean she loves you any less. Though, if you choose not to accompany us, she will be terribly hurt."

Her eyes lifted slowly – he effortlessly played upon her one vulnerability. She had been masterfully manipulated, and she knew it.

"I mean to have my half a year, Penelo," he said. "A fair opportunity to win you. A few short months in which to make a place for myself in your lives." He shifted awkwardly, mouth twisting wryly. "I have sworn to Larsa to return you to Archades in that time so that you may tell him of your decision. And, if I should fail, I have sworn to remove myself from your lives – permanently."

She couldn't look him in the eye when he was studying her so intently. Though she didn't trust his recently-discovered 'love', she dreaded what she would find in his face. He could fool her so easily, and she was so weak to him – she wouldn't set herself up for disappointment again, she _wouldn't_. Balthier would quickly grow bored with life as a family man. His was a life of adventure and recklessness – he could never content himself with a family, and she would do well to remember that.

Not unaware of her inner turmoil, Balthier held his hand out to her. "Will you stay, Penelo? Just for a little while?"

Her gaze flickered over his face for an instant, then darted uncomfortably away. She folded her arms, shoulders hunched, her body posture defensive. She skirted around him, making her away towards the kitchen.

"For a while," she agreed irritably.

He followed her into the kitchen, setting a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, darling," he said, trying to draw her into his arms.

She shoved him away with a scowl. "Don't push your luck," she snapped. "I'm here for Ellie, not _you_."

Balthier resisted the urge to heave a heavy sigh – obviously it was going to be harder to work his way back into her heart than he had thought.

--

Penelo ignored him as much as possible. He'd severely underestimated her ability to hold a grudge. Then again, he couldn't really blame her – he imagined he would be somewhat irritated over coercion such as he'd used.

Ellie had awoken shortly after their confrontation and was currently amusing herself with her model airship, playing in the small dining area near the kitchen, where Penelo was currently shaking her head in consternation over his shameful supply of fresh foods. Then again, he was not nearly the chef she was and more often than not found himself dining in local taverns whenever he was inside a city.

"There's no help for it," she sighed. "We'll have to head into the city. The Phon Coast doesn't have an active market."

Still a little skeptical of Penelo's acquiescence, he was wary of taking them into a city where it would be easy for her to escape him.

"There's a market," he began, "in the Mosphoran Highwaste. It's small, but it will have everything you'll require."

"But the market at Balfonheim would be better stocked. It's not _that _far away. A few hours, at most." She glanced over at Ellie. "Children need well-balanced diets."

"I assure you, she'll have everything she needs," Balthier said, taking a seat at the table. "I suppose I shall need to take you to a clothier sooner or later," he sighed. "Very few of the clothes that Larsa had commissioned for you will be appropriate for this sort of life."

Penelo shrugged. "I guess so."

She had her back turned to him, so she couldn't see his face, and he desperately wanted to. She was hiding herself away from him; he couldn't quite tell what she was thinking.

"Do you miss it?" He asked suddenly. "Do you regret calling off your wedding?"

She hesitated, then shook her head slowly. "That's not the life I want."

"Why _did _you call it off?"

"I didn't." Her tone was clipped. "You heard Larsa; he'd called it off days ago."

He pushed back his chair, moving silently towards her. She had been chopping up some fruit for Ellie and didn't notice his approach until his voice was much closer than it had been before.

"_You _didn't know he'd cried halt," he said. "So why did you do it?"

She jumped, startled by his sudden approach. Her knife dropped onto the counter; her lips formed a small 'o' of surprise.

"I…I…" For a moment she forgot her resolve to harden her heart against him. His nearness was intoxicating. Her fingers bit into the countertop, resisting the urge to slide them around his neck and drag his lips to hers. "It…it just wasn't right."

"You seemed to think it was right enough for quite a few months." He eased closer, closing the distance between them, his fingers tunneling into her hair. "What made you change your mind?"

Penelo's breath feathered out shakily. She bit her lower lip, struggling to work up the will to push him away. But his green eyes were so warm and soft on her face. Her hands came up, but she couldn't force herself to push him away. In turn, he slid his opposite arm around her waist, drawing her closer as the hand cupping her face tilted her chin up. His warm breath caressed her cheek as his lips brushed hers. Her eyes closed; her fingers tightened on his shoulders. All thoughts of right or wrong, of Balthier's inevitable desertion, of how brokenhearted she would be when he left them again – they flew right out of her head like birds from a window.

She sighed, parting her lips to receive his kiss, her arms looping around his neck, fingers sliding into the soft, cool strands of his hair. He broke the kiss long enough to rub his cheek against hers, murmuring in her ear. "Tell me, Penelo," he whispered, his husky voice sending shivers down her spine. "I want to hear it."

"Oh, Balthier," she whispered back, "I love you. I love you so –"

"Papa?"

The sound of soft footsteps entering the kitchen jerked her to her senses. Her eyes flew open, growing very wide in dawning horror.

He felt her body go tense in his arms. A moment later, she shoved him away, her fingers trembling as she smoothed her mussed hair away from her face.

He passed his hand over his face, hoping his frustration at the unwelcome interruption didn't show. "Yes, Ellie?" He asked, reminding himself that it was hardly Ellie's fault that he and Penelo were currently on bad footing. "What is it, sweet?"

"I'm hungry." She tilted her head to the side, studying them curiously. "May I have a snack?"

"I'm making you one right now, baby," Penelo said, still sounding a little frazzled. "Why don't you go put up your airship and then come sit down at the table?"

Ellie hurried to do as bidden, and Balthier turned back to Penelo regretfully. Perhaps he had handled that poorly. Her back was stiff – she would not be so easily caught off-guard again.

"Penelo…"

Her voice was sharp and crisp as she chopped swiftly through the fruit she was preparing. "Oh, I love you, Balthier." She laughed, a self-deprecating sound that made him wince. "I do love you…but I wish I didn't."


	19. Chapter 19

Unlikely as it seemed, Penelo was forced to admit to herself that Balthier made a good father. Though it was obvious that his interaction with children had been scarce in his life, he was patient with Ellie and, even when she tested his limits, he treated her kindly and fairly. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with her frequent, impulsive displays of affection, and yet he never failed to hold her close when she threw her small arms around his neck, and he frequently acquiesced to her demands that he play with her, no matter how her pretend tea parties challenged his manhood.

And she was somewhat jealous – until just recently, she had been her daughter's most frequent playmate. Now, it was Balthier who indulged her desires to launch air strikes with her model airships, spinning thrilling tales of military victories and defeats with his daughter by his side, enraptured with his every word. For Ellie, it seemed that the sun rose and set on her father.

Still, Penelo's innate distrust of Balthier and his fickle attentions stood between them. She could not bring herself to trust him not to abandon them – she had seen firsthand his love of his carefree life, and did not believe that he would ever choose to give it up, regardless of what he had told her. She was certain that his desire for his freedom would one day outweigh whatever affection he professed to have for his daughter. As for Penelo – well, she knew that Balthier had likely had many paramours in his life, all of which were certainly more beautiful and skilled than she. The fact that she had borne his daughter seemed to be her only recommendation, and she was sure that Balthier would soon become disenchanted by the notion.

For the moment, he was living his life as a consummate family man, but she did not hold out any hope that it would last overly long. With luck, she would continue to rebuff his advances until he grew bored with a life of obligations and decided to let them go. She could only hope that Ellie would quickly recover from her father's defection.

Balthier held just as many worries as Penelo did – for nearly a month they had been sharing the same airship, and though his newly discovered responsibilities as a father were occasionally trying, he found it, on the whole, to be a satisfying life. Never before had he known the sort of peace that he experienced as a man whose sole purpose was to dedicate himself to his family. As time progressed, he began to wonder what he had ever seen in his old life. Though it had been thrilling and filled with marvelous adventures, it had never satisfied him on any level – there had always been something missing in his life, and he hadn't had any idea as to what it could have been until he had held his daughter in his arms and felt her head resting so trustingly on his shoulder.

For the first time in years, his only concerns centered around his family – and whether he would be allowed to keep them. Perhaps he had been searching all along for a place he could be comfortable, a family to belong to, and now that he had found them, he dreaded the time flying by that threatened to take them from him forever.

--

"I have purchased a house," Balthier said one evening as they were gathered around the dinner table.

Penelo stared at him blankly, her cup of sweet cider held just inches from her lips as she struggled to process the information. "A house?" She repeated uncomprehendingly. "Whatever for?"

"For you," he said. "For _us_. You and I and Ellie. It's a bit smaller than I would have liked, but it's quite nice, nonetheless – and in a good location, just outside of Archades. Ellie would be able to see Larsa whenever she pleases. It was my understanding she had developed a fondness for him."

"A house in Archades?" Penelo tested the words – it didn't sound right to her; it sounded foreign, bizarre. She could not imagine Balthier living within the walls of a building – _any _building. He was infinitely more at home flying miles above the ground in his airship than constrained to the ground, to a normal, everyday life.

He watched her face closely, searching for a sign of her true feelings, which she had kept carefully hidden as of late. "If you prefer, I can acquire a residence in Rabanastre, instead. Or perhaps Nabradia, where I am not quite so infamous."

"We don't need a house," she protested. "We'll be leaving in a few months. Remember?" She speared a bit of meat viciously, daring him to argue.

He murmured something noncommittal behind his wine glass, but a hint of a smile lingered about his mouth. She had the feeling he was amused by her fit of pique, and it riled her all the more.

"I don't want to live in a house purchased with ill-gotten gains, anyway," she said spitefully.

Balthier leveled her a look that clearly said he thought her a hypocrite. She flushed a little – after all, her own apartment had been purchased with the proceeds from her piracy – but raised her chin, refusing to be cowed. After all, she had done it not for the sake of living rich, she had only done what was necessary to support herself and her daughter.

He resisted the urge to smile at her temerity – she was still prickly and irate, hissing and spitting at him like a scared kitten at any opportunity. And he had little doubt that was exactly what she was – _terrified_. He threatened her secure little life, forced her to feel emotions she had no desire for, unsettled her and constantly pushed her boundaries. Therefore he refused to hold her harsh words against her; he imagined he would act much the same were he in her position.

He set his glass of wine down carefully, choosing his words. "It was not purchased with my _ill-gotten gains_, as you say."

She quirked a brow. "How did you buy it, then?" She asked crisply, and he heard the doubt in her voice.

"My parents left me a legacy, it seems. Though I had not collected it, due in large part to lack of interest, recently I decided that I could have my piracy or my family, but not both. So I resolved to give up the piracy, collected the legacy left to me by my father, and purchased a small estate. I am a wealthy man, Penelo – independently, not simply from the fruits of my own piracy."

Penelo didn't know what to say to that – just the fact that Balthier had accepted something left to him by his hated father was disconcerting. Penelo cleared her throat. "Ellie, please go wash up and get ready for bed," she said. Ellie, who had been watching the exchange with patent interest, made a little sound of disappointment, but hopped off her chair to do her mother's bidding. After Ellie had safely entered her room, Penelo asked: "Why did you take it?"

His smile was wry. "I felt it a sort of poetic justice. I failed to please him in life, and he made me miserable in return for my efforts. Now I will use his gil to do something equally repugnant to him – raise and keep a family."

It was the wrong thing to say – he knew it when she stood swiftly, bringing her plate and utensils into the kitchen. "We're not just a means to an end," she said tightly. "You can't use us to get back at your father, Balthier. He's dead and gone; he doesn't care. Let it go." _Let _us _go_. He heard it as clearly as if it had been said, and his heart clenched.

"I'm not using you, darling," he said, rising. "I've got five months left, remember? You gave me a promise." His hands fell warmly on her shoulders. She tensed – but then, she always did when he touched her, as if she had to steel herself against him. Balthier didn't know whether he should be pleased or worried.

"I was blackmailed into it," she reminded him.

"Yes," he agreed amiably, "but have I been so unkind to you? Or to Ellie?"

She hesitated, then slowly shook her head. She wouldn't lie to him; not about that. Indeed, he'd been more than kind. He'd been affectionate and loving with Ellie; careful and gentle with Penelo, who was still nursing her anger.

He sighed, drawing her back against his chest, wrapping one arm around her waist. She stiffened briefly, until he linked the fingers of his free hand through one of hers and his head fell upon her shoulder. He seemed tired, somehow. His fingers stroked hers gently, the soft caress causing something hot and needy to unfurl in her stomach. She didn't want to react to him the way she did; she simply couldn't help it.

"I want your love, Penelo," he murmured softly, heartened by the fact that she had not yet pushed him away. "But I want more than that, as well. I want your trust, your friendship. I want every part of you that you have to give, and I want to give you every part of me. I want to raise our daughter together in Archades or Rabanastre, or wherever you prefer – it is all the same to me, so long as I have you and Ellie by my side. All my life I had been searching for something – now that I have found it at last, I will do all in my power to keep it." His hand brought her fingers to his lips, and he kissed her knuckles softly. "To keep _you_."

"I'm not a pet," Penelo said. "I'm not a toy; I'm not something to be _kept_."

"Darling," Balthier chided gently. "Why do you insist on reading offense where none is intended?"

"It's easier than letting myself be taken in by meaningless words." She carefully extricated herself from his arms. "Talk is cheap, Balthier. Trust is earned. And let me tell you, you haven't done the best job in the world of earning mine."

"So I _can _earn it?" He inquired smoothly. "You haven't set yourself against me on principle? If I win your trust, you will stay?"

Her jaw dropped; she floundered for words. "I-I didn't say that!" She protested.

"Not in so many words," he admitted, shrugging.

"Not in _any _words!" She countered. He chuckled at her hunted expression – clearly, she thought she'd made a grievous error. He sauntered forward, pinning her against the counter with his body as he cupped her face in his hands. She glared at him defiantly.

"Ah, Penelo," he murmured, stroking the petal-softness of her cheek with his thumb. "Someday you will believe everything I say, because you will know that I tell you only the truth." He dropped a brief kiss on her pink lips, tasting the remnants of her cider. He moved away, allowing her her freedom. "I'll see to Ellie," he said.

Penelo nodded, turning away. "I'll do the dishes," she said, a bit uncomfortable. Balthier's intensity had been a little disconcerting, and already she felt heat rising in her cheeks. She was shaken; rattled by his simultaneous tenderness and ruthless determination. She had little doubt he would use whatever underhanded tactics he could to get her to acquiesce to his wishes. She only wished she understood his true motivation – if she did, it would be easier to resist his advances, especially when everything he promised sounded so appealing. Still, she was certain it would be just like a mirage in the desert – a beautiful illusion and nothing else.

After she had done the dishes, she made her way to Ellie's bedchamber to kiss her goodnight. The door was open, and Balthier was seated at Ellie's bedside, in the middle of a story. He was animated in a way she had seldom seen him – usually he was reserved and cold, but now his voice thrummed with intensity and vigor, his hands flew as he reenacted something from whatever story he was telling. Ellie lay still and quiet, her eyes wide and her teeth nibbling her lower lip, clearly too caught up in Balthier's tale to have noticed Penelo's entrance.

"She was _fearless_," Balthier said – high praise coming from one such as him. "You ought to have seen her shove through those guards in an attempt to rescue Vaan, sweetheart. Even when she was abducted, I have never seen a more level-headed person than your mother – any other woman ought to have panicked and proven herself completely useless, but not Penelo. No, she is a cut above. And when we rescued her and fought our way out – I have never seen a more graceful warrior than your mother. She moves like poetry," he said reverently. "Even when she's hacking fiends to bits –"

Penelo cleared her throat at that, interrupting Balthier's storytelling with a slight shake of her head. "May I have a word with you?" She requested stiffly.

"Of course, darling." Balthier ruffled Ellie's blonde hair, then followed Penelo into the hallway.

"_Don't _tell her things like that!" She chastised. "She's only five; she'll have nightmares!"

"Nonsense," he argued. "I've been telling her similar stories for weeks and she's not had a single nightmare yet. If anything, it reassures her that you can protect her."

"Be that as it may," Penelo hissed, "I won't have you feeding Ellie wild stories. She's just a child, Balthier."

He observed her casually. "You can't keep her forever, Penelo. She's going to grow up. Better to encourage her to grow in a safe environment than to shelter her so much that she never learns how to take care of herself."

"She's a _child_! She doesn't _need _to take care of herself; it's _my _responsibility to care for her!" Penelo protested, hearing the truth of his words but refusing to heed them.

"She's a child on her way to becoming an adult, darling," he corrected gently. "As a parent, you must allow her the freedom to grow. As much as you may wish her to stay this age forever, children have a way of growing whether or not you wish to allow them to do so." He folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "You can only protect her for as long as she wishes you to do so. Someday she will want to fight her own battles, and it is _our _responsibility to see that she knows how to do so. You would not have her making her way in the world unprepared, would you?"

"No," Penelo said, "But –"

"She'll be _fine_," he said. "So long as we prepare her for any eventuality, she'll be a happy, well-adjusted, very much loved little girl. Allow her a bit of freedom," he encouraged. "I know she is young, but Ivalice is a different place now than it was when you were a child, Penelo."

Her hands clenched at her sides. She'd become so accustomed to being the only one to make decisions where Ellie was concerned that she was unprepared to deal with his arguments. Somehow she hadn't thought he would involve himself with raising Ellie – and it disconcerted her that he did.

"_Fine_," she said finally. "But if she gets a nightmare – one _single _nightmare, Balthier – those stories stop. Okay?"

He gifted her with a brilliant smile, pleased at having gotten his way. "Of course," he said, drawing her into his arms to kiss her forehead. She didn't pull away as she so often had in the past, and he got the feeling that he had managed to throw her off-balance. "Go tuck her in," he said. "And then, if you please, I would appreciate it if you would join me in the kitchen."

She nodded unenthusiastically, slipping quietly into Ellie's room.

Balthier retired to the kitchen to wait, where he removed two glasses from the hanging rack and uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured a measure of wine into each, then took them into the dining room.

Penelo returned a few minutes later to find Balthier seated at the table. He handed her a glass of wine as she approached and she took it without argument, sipping it slowly.

"Please, sit," he said, motioning to a chair. She did as he bid, looking not at him but at the open door to the bridge. Balthier wondered if she were thinking about leaving – so far he had not allowed her to fly the _Strahl_, even though he knew that she enjoyed navigating. She still did not trust him, and that, in turn, made it difficult for him to trust her not to flee him at the earliest opportunity. Still, she had allowed him a measure of trust this evening where their daughter was concerned, and he felt he owed her something in return.

"I was thinking of taking Ellie into the city tomorrow," he said slowly.

"Which city?" She asked. Her shoulders were hunched, her fingers curled tightly around the wine glass. Her posture was defensive; she was obviously uncomfortable.

"I don't know," he said. "I thought perhaps you might like to decide."

Her gaze flitted to him, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes." He set his empty glass aside, folding his hands on the table before him. "You haven't done any navigating in a while, correct?"

"Years," she said. "It's been years since I last did any navigating."

"Then perhaps tomorrow would be a good opportunity for you to take it up again," he said.

"You want me to navigate the _Strahl_?" She asked doubtfully. "Why?"

"Because you love navigating," he said. "You trusted me with Ellie this evening. Now I am trusting you not to run from me." When she flushed guiltily he knew she had considered it, but he said nothing.

Her chin rose defiantly. "I could run anyway. I could take us to Rabanastre and grab Ellie and get lost in the crowd. You would never find us."

"Yes," he admitted. "You know Rabanastre far better than I. You could do that." He stood, grabbed the wine bottle from the counter, and refilled his glass and hers. "I am trusting you _not _to do so, Penelo. So decide where it is you wish to go. Tomorrow, you shall have the run of the bridge." He bent, kissed her cheek, and set the half-empty bottle on the table before her. "Good night, darling," he said, and left her to her thoughts.

--

When he awoke the next morning, they were already well underway. The airship shifted subtly, and he knew a moment's panic – Penelo could easily have set the auto-pilot, slipped herself and Ellie off the ship and let the take-off sequence carry Balthier far away from them. Then he heard Ellie's laughter and breathed a sigh of relief – Penelo would _never _leave Ellie.

He rolled out of bed, dressing quickly and efficiently. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, Ellie's squeal rent the air.

"Papa!" She ran towards him. "Mama let me help her fly the _Strahl_!" She asked excitedly.

"Did she?" he asked, scooping her into his arms. "Well, your mother is one of the best navigators I've ever known. I've no doubt you've inherited her skill." He flashed a smile at Penelo, who stood near the bridge, her arms folded across her chest. To his complete surprise, she smiled back. Her smiles had become so rare – and always directed at their daughter, never at him – that he felt the shock of that hesitant smile all the way to his toes.

"So," he began, when he could breathe again. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a _surprise_," Ellie said. "Mama told me so."

"Is that so?" Balthier asked. "Well, then, far be it from me to try to pry the secret from you," he said to Penelo. He gently set Ellie down on her feet. "What do you think we should buy in the city today?" He asked of Ellie.

"Apples!" she said decisively. "So mama can make a pie. And a bow and arrows."

"A bow and arrows?" Penelo inquired, with raised eyebrows.

"Papa promised he would teach me to hunt!" Ellie declared excitedly.

At once, Penelo's good humor fled. Balthier winced, feeling an argument coming on.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Penelo's tone was sharp – even Ellie sensed something was wrong.

"Now, Penelo…"

"Don't you dare 'now, Penelo' me, Balthier!" She snapped. "I want to know what you mean by promising to teach my daughter to hunt!"

He could feel the animosity in the air, feel the crackle of tension between them. Whatever ground he'd gained with her he had promptly lost with Ellie's excited declaration.

"_Our _daughter, darling," he corrected gently. "I will be teaching _our _daughter to hunt." He set one hand on Ellie's shoulder, not wishing her to feel that Penelo's current temper was in any way her fault.

Penelo stared, dumbstruck, at the sight of father and daughter standing in alliance. Ellie's chin had achieved the same tilt as Balthier's, her occasional stubbornness rising to the forefront in the face of Penelo's displeasure. They looked so much alike in that instant that all words and thought fled.

"I want to learn, Mama," Ellie said plaintively. Her hand crept into Balthier's. "Papa said he would teach me. You'll let him teach me, won't you?"

Her throat clogged with emotion. Unwillingly, Balthier's argument of the night before came to her mind. He'd said she couldn't keep Ellie a child forever, and he'd been right. She thought Ellie was too young to learn such things – but she hadn't been so much older when Archadia had taken Dalmasca, and she did not want her daughter as unprepared as she had once been. So she stifled her own concerns, and let her anger out on a harsh sigh.

"If you want to learn, I won't stop you," she heard herself say. Even to herself, her voice sounded choked and quavering. But Ellie whooped, thrilled with her success, and wrapped her arms around Penelo's waist.

"_Thank_ you, Mama!" she said. Penelo stroked her soft hair with trembling fingers, then gently disentangled herself from Ellie's tight embrace.

"I have to…to make breakfast," she said softly. "Make sure you wash your face and comb your hair."

"I will." Ellie smiled up at Balthier. "She said _yes_!" she cried happily. "Mama _never _lets me do anything fun!"

"She just wants to protect you, sweetheart," Balthier soothed. "She wants a better life for you than she had as a child. Go do as your mama said, okay?"

As Ellie disappeared into her room, Balthier followed Penelo into the kitchen. She was staring blankly out the window, her arms folded over her chest. He could feel her despair; it came off her in waves.

"I didn't make that promise to hurt you," he said. "Nor did I give her any promise as to _when _I would teach her; only that I would."

She shrugged as if it didn't matter overly much to her; but he knew that it did.

"I just…I feel like I'm losing her. Do you know what that's like? I've held her in my arms all her life. I soothed her when she was upset, cared for her when she was sick, kissed bruises, told stories, fixed broken toys. She's just five years old, and already she's slipping through my fingers." She brushed at the tears on her cheeks, feeling foolish. "You were right, Balthier. I can't hold on to her forever."

He sighed, wishing she would let him hold her – but he sensed that she would reject any advance he made at the moment and he had no wish to be rebuffed. "There are times I take no pleasure in being right," he said. "But you've done the right thing. The more you restrict her, the more she will resent it. You're giving her what she needs by letting her grow at her own pace. She'll love you all the more for it."

She nodded slowly, as if reassured by his words. "It's hard, though. Balthier, I'm not ready to let her go. I don't think I'll ever be ready."

"I don't imagine it will ever get easier," he said. "But you can take pleasure in knowing she will become the woman you mold her into. If nothing else, Penelo, she'll be happy." He eased a little closer to her. "Perhaps you'd like to help me teach her?" He asked. "I confess, I'm a little rusty with a bow and arrow. Or perhaps you can begin training her in simple magicks. You're far and away better at it than I ever was. Together, we can teach her all she would wish to know."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "You want me to help?"

"She's _our _daughter, Penelo. Not yours, not mine, but ours together. Don't you think it's right that we should both have a hand in raising her?" He asked.

She relaxed by degrees, struggling to wipe away the last vestiges of her hurt and sadness. "I suppose you're right," she said softly.

Her acquiescence warmed him – just a week earlier she might've argued vehemently over whose right it was to make such decisions. He pulled a tissue from the small box on the countertop and handed it to her. "Forgive me?" He asked with a smile.

She took it, offering a small smile back in return. "Okay," she said.

And it was his fervent hope she meant it for more than just their most recent altercation.


	20. Chapter 20

Balthier was, frankly, surprised when he discovered that Penelo had set a flight course for Archades. It showed a measure of trust – he knew the city far better than did she, and she was well aware of that fact. And it pleased him that she'd chosen Archades, as he was anxious to get a firsthand look at his newly-acquired property. If he had Penelo and Ellie with him, so much the better, for he planned for it to be their home as well, and he wanted them to like it.

They disembarked the _Strahl _and left the Aerodrome, headed towards the busy market district. He enjoyed the restfulness of it – it was unusual for him to be doing something so ordinary as going on a walk through the city, stopping in whatever shops caught their fancy. In general he kept out of the big cities, and when he did venture within, it was usually only to restock his stores.

He'd never anticipated how _good _it would feel to simply enjoy the day with no thought of jobs to be done or guards to evade. There was something incredibly peaceful about walking slowly along the well-kept streets beside Penelo, keeping a strict eye on Ellie as she flitted about, peering curiously into store windows.

"Not so far ahead, now," Penelo called, and, dutifully, Ellie scampered back to a more acceptable distance.

"She has so much energy," Balthier marveled. "It's wearying just _watching _her."

"I know." Penelo blew out a breath. "She has this penchant for getting into mischief." Her gaze darted sideways, appraising him. "And she certainly didn't get it from _me_."

He laughed, delighted – it was the first time in recent memory Penelo had teased him. The subtle shift in their relationship was welcome; they were no longer enemies. In fact, they shared a tenuous friendship of sorts. Though she was by no means affectionate with him, she'd ceased to snap at him given any opportunity.

He stopped abruptly – Ellie was occupied with a display of dolls in a window – and Penelo stopped beside him.

"Balthier?" She asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He took her hand in his, linking their fingers. She looked down at their joined hands in confusion, and he took the opportunity to move closer, brushing her bangs away from her face to kiss her forehead. "She's beautiful, Penelo. I never thought I would have a child. And now that I do, I can't remember what it was like without her." His free hand cupped her cheek, and he touched his forehead to hers, humbled by the magnitude of the love he felt for both of them. "Thank you."

An odd lump had formed in Penelo's throat. She didn't want to believe him. She didn't want to love him. But…he sounded so _sincere_….

"Papa?" Ellie tugged at Balthier's sleeve, and Penelo drew away, embarrassed at having been part of such a spectacle on a public street.

Balthier took her withdrawal in stride, but refused to relinquish his hold on her fingers. "What is it, sweet?"

"What does _bastard _mean?" Ellie asked innocently.

Penelo drew in a sharp breath. "Where did you hear that word?" She asked.

"That lady over there," Ellie said, pointing to a well-dressed, middle-aged woman a few yards away. Her back was to them, but Penelo felt Balthier stiffen beside her. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"What did she say to you, darling?" He asked tightly.

"She said I must be Balthier's bastard child. I didn't know what that word meant, but I told her you were my papa. She laughed, but it wasn't a funny sort of laugh. It was a mean sort of laugh." She frowned. "It didn't sound right, Papa."

"Balthier?" Penelo asked softly. "Do you…know that woman?"

Without answering, he swept Ellie into his arms, then grabbed Penelo's hand in his and headed for the woman Ellie had indicated.

"Hello, Iola," he said in a tone that made Penelo's stomach clench. Instinctively she know that whatever had happened between the two in past, it had hardly been good.

The woman went rigid at the sound of her name and turned about slowly. Penelo was surprised to see that, although the woman was well past the first blush of youth, she quite lovely. Only her mouth, which was pinched into the unpleasant expression of a woman consistently dissatisfied with life, marred her beauty. Few lines etched her face, but the tiny ones at the corners of her eyes were telling. Penelo put her at eight to ten years older than Balthier.

"Ffamran," she acknowledged frostily. "How _dare_ you bring that child into this city?" Her cool green gaze slid from Balthier to Penelo and back again. Penelo had the uncomfortable feeling she had been measured and found wanting.

"And your harlot, too," Iola said peevishly. "Is there any low to which you will not stoop?"

"If you insult Penelo or our child again, you will regret it," he warned. "You should be aware, as Father's only living male heir, I control all of his assets. Your settlement is in my hands."

"Bah." She waved a hand dismissively. "My husband –"

"Is a drunk, a cheat, and a coward," Balthier finished for her. "He is well on his way to bankruptcy and he will take you with him if I should withdraw your portion. Don't tempt me to do so; I have no great love of our family, Iola, and I like vicious harpies even less. You would do well to make your peace with me and attempt to stay in my good graces."

Iola drew herself up, raising her chin defiantly. "I pray that you someday receive your just rewards," she spat hatefully. "You are a deserter of your country, a cowardly betrayer of your family. It is my fervent hope for you to rot in a traitor's prison!"

"_Enough_," he shouted with enough force to make even Penelo wince. "You will take yourself from the city at once, or I will see all of your husband's vowels called in. You'll find his gambling debts alone sufficient to ruin you. Retire to your country estate and if, in six months or so, you will give me your solemn word that you will keep your venomous tongue in your mouth and refrain from spreading your hateful opinions, I shall allow you to return to the city."

"I do not require your permission to remain within the city," she said stiffly. "My husband –"

"Once again, Iola, your _husband _on whom you are dependent is, in turn, dependent upon my continued goodwill which, after being on the receiving end of your sharp tongue, is in short supply!"

Iola, realizing she had been outmaneuvered, deflated visibly. But her chin maintained its uncomfortable-looking proud tilt. "Very well," she said. "I shall repair to our country estate in a fortnight –"

"_Now_, Iola. Go _now_." That muscle ticked in his jaw again, and even Penelo was aware that he was nearing the end of his patience.

Apparently Iola had come to a similar conclusion, for she bobbed a hasty, impertinent curtsey, and turned on her heel with a muffled sound of disdain, striding hastily towards her waiting footman and lady's maid. She stripped off her elegant gloves, speaking sharply to the bemused young woman who accepted the gloves and the harsh reprimand without comment.

"Papa," Ellie said, placing her small hands on either side of Balthier's face to catch his attention. "Are you very angry?"

He shook off his ill temper, softening his tone so as not to alarm his daughter. "Not at you, pet."

"I didn't like her, Papa." Ellie laid her head on his shoulder. "She's not a very nice lady."

"No," he agreed. "She's not. She never has been."

"Your sister?" Penelo inquired softly as they resumed their walk, although at a quicker pace. It seemed the fragile peace of the day had been shattered by that chance meeting, and none of them know how it could be reclaimed.

"Yes," he said shortly. Then, as though he realized he had, in his pique, behaved poorly towards Penelo, he found himself elaborating. It wasn't a comfortable situation – he rarely felt the need to explain himself to anyone, but if he wished for Penelo to trust in him, he knew he had to extend the same courtesy to her. "My elder by nearly ten years. She was wed when I was just a child. Father did an extraordinary job of shaping her to be just like him. I suppose she resents me, in part, because I could not protect her as I could our…our younger sister, Mariette."

"You have another sister?" Penelo asked. She had not known – she had been aware that Balthier was not an only child, but he so rarely talked about his past.

"Yes. I had two older brothers, as well. Both are gone. Our father was not a kind man, and I…I was not an easily influenced youth. He could neither indoctrinate me nor beat me into submission as he so frequently did with his other children. By the time I was old enough to stand against him, Iola was long married and in her own household – only Mariette remained. I protected her from our father's frequent rages for as long as I could. And then I forsook my family when I was sixteen. Mariette was just twelve, and I left her behind. I wonder, occasionally, if she resents me just as Iola does. I failed her, as well."

He had never confessed such things to anyone before – not even Fran – and it left him feeling oddly vulnerable. Penelo knew all his insecurities. She knew how to wound him, where, exactly, to cut to inflict the most damage. He could only hope she would not.

"I'm sure she doesn't," she soothed immediately. "You were just a boy, yourself. I'm sure she knows you did what you could."

He appeared doubtful. "My family was not like yours, Penelo. There was no love, no warmth between us. Just the knowledge that we were all pawns to be used to further our father's gains. I do not know how to be part of a loving family however much I desire it. I have become accustomed to denying I desire such things because they were so frequently snatched away from me as a child. My family never taught me love or respect, or even fondness. I don't know how to feel these things." Sometimes he wondered if he even felt at all – or if it was, in point of fact, another illusion to be cruelly taken from him when it would hurt the most. Just as he had a difficult time trusting others, so he could not trust himself.

Then, in the midst of his brooding, existential quandary, Ellie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek sweetly to his. "I love you, Papa," she said. And his heart wrenched within his chest – _surely _such a thing had to be real? Surely his fears of becoming a man in the style of his father were unfounded, if such a simple thing shook him to the core of his being?

Then, to the surprise of even himself, his arms tightened around the child. "I love you," he whispered, shocked to find it the truth. He _did _love Ellie – for how could he fail to love his own child, the child that Penelo had carried beneath her heart for nine months, had borne in secrecy, had sheltered and loved all the days of her life? And Penelo was nothing like his own mother; she genuinely loved their daughter. She held neither the circumstances of Ellie's birth, nor the identity of her father against the child.

Somehow, they had changed him. And he realized that he had been running from his past, desperately attempting to escape becoming his father's son – and in the process, he had nearly become that which he had striven to avoid. But no longer, for how could he go back to his cold, empty existence when he had seen that there could be more, that even a man such as him could have a chance for greater things?

It strengthened his resolve to win Penelo over, to prove to her – and himself – that he was nothing like his father. Because his father, for all that he had possessed untold riches and the respect of kings and queens – had never possessed the love of his wife or children, and Balthier infinitely preferred those things that his father had willingly eschewed to the cold comforts of wealth and prestige. Those he had had in spades, and he had quite had his fill of them. Nothing could compare to the feel of Ellie's arms around his neck, to the peace he felt in Penelo's company.

Feeling dangerously close to an untoward display of emotion, Balthier cleared his throat. "Let's continue, shall we?" He said. "We're nearing the residential district. I should like to see our house, if you're agreeable."

Penelo held her tongue and refrained from pointing out that it was _his _house, that she had never agreed to live in it, most especially not with him. Ellie seemed so excited at the prospect, and, after all, Balthier had just confronted his vicious sister on their behalf. The thought of ruining the moment with petty arguments left her feeling strangely…deflated.

So she merely nodded her agreement, and they walked side by side towards the residential district, with Ellie chattering excitedly about the house.

---

It was quite a grand house, Penelo thought. She had been under the impression of a small house with a picket fence and perhaps a decent yard in which Ellie could play. However, Balthier led them up a smoothly paved walkway surrounded by tall oak trees that lent an air of country elegance, towards an enormous white manor house. Lush greenery surrounded the exquisitely designed building, wrapping around the sides, hinting at a larger garden behind the house.

"But, I thought…you said it was a house…" she faltered. How was she supposed to express her trepidation over such a thing? Why, the only residences she'd ever been within that were larger than Balthier's "house" were royal palaces!

He blinked, bemused. "It is. Rosewood House, to be precise. As I said, it is on the smaller side, but it is quite lovely within, or so I have been assured. My Head of Staff ought to already have the majority of the rooms furnished by now."

Dumbly, Penelo trailed behind him, dimly hearing Ellie exclaim over the beautifully groomed flowerbeds. Of course Balthier would purchase a manor. Too late she recalled the sort of house he must have grown up in – obviously it dwarfed his newly acquired residence by comparison. Imagine, thinking a mansion to be on the _smaller _side!

And of course he didn't stop to knock at the door. No, being the master of the house, he simply opened the front door and walked right into the foyer. Polished marble floors gleamed as though they had been freshly washed – and Penelo imagined they had been, in preparation for the house's new owner.

A man dressed in an elegant suit with a frothy white lace cloth at his neck descended the staircase before them. He was perhaps fifteen years older than Balthier and had a distinguished air that made Penelo feel dowdy and unrefined by comparison.

"Ah, Sir, I am afraid we were not expecting you," he said smoothly, dipping into a courtly bow. "Please allow me to escort you to the drawing room while I call for some tea."

Balthier's nose wrinkled comically. "I cannot abide the stuff. Coffee, if you please, Carrison."

"As you wish," Carrison replied. "For you, Miss?" He inquired cordially of Penelo.

"T-tea, please," she managed to stammer out. Even the servants in Larsa's palace had rarely deigned to ask her what she wanted – they had simply deferred to Larsa, and so Penelo was unaccustomed to being treated like anything other than a servant or a bother. She could see that Carrison knew she was not yet the lady of the manner, however he treated her as though she was.

Carrison nodded genially and turned his attention to Ellie. "For you, Miss?"

"Milk and cookies," Ellie replied imperiously, having grown used to being made much of while in the Palace, for Larsa had seldom denied her anything.

"Very good." He sketched another bow. "I shall see to it at once. If it pleases you, I shall prepare the servants so that after refreshments I may give you a tour of Rosewood House."

"It does," Balthier replied. "Have the…ah…preparations we discussed been completed?"

"Exactly as you have asked, sir."

"Good, good. Well, then, Carrison, if you would be good enough to summon our refreshments?" Balthier took a seat on the sprawling white sofa behind him, looking ridiculously out of place between the plush white cushions and the dainty, ornately carved coffee table before him. She noticed he barely resisted temptation to plunk his boots upon the polished, shiny surface. Carrison left them to their own devices, and Ellie climbed onto a loveseat to peer out the window. Already her scuffed shoes were leaving a faintly-discernable trail of dirt on the immaculate furniture, and Penelo prayed that she wouldn't reduce the room to a shambles – at least before their refreshments arrived.

She gave up attempting to live up to the grandeur of the house and plunked herself down on the sofa, not too near Balthier, but not too far away, either.

"_This_," she said irritably, "is not a _house_."

"It's certainly not a marketplace," Balthier countered. "What, pray tell, were you expecting?"

"A _house_," she insisted. "A _small _house with possibly two or three bedrooms, and certainly no servants. _This _probably has its own ballroom and library!"

It had a library on each of its three floors and a sizeable ballroom in the west wing, but Balthier refrained from pointing it out. He fell silent as Carrison entered, bearing their refreshments. Ellie retrieved her milk and cookies and retreated to the far side of the room, gazing happily out the window.

He sipped his coffee, pleased to discover it was a decent brew – unlike the swill he'd been forced to drink in taverns of late.

"How many bedrooms are there?" Penelo asked. Something about her tone told him to tread lightly – she was not as pleased as he had hoped she would be. Too late he remembered Penelo's upbringing as the only daughter in a small family that had lived crowded into a tiny apartment in the heart of Rabanastre. It was likely that she would prefer something less ostentatious. He, on the other hand, had been raised in a much larger mansion and viewed his newly-acquired residence a good deal more conservative than that to which he had previously been accustomed.

"Eighteen," he answered truthfully. "Not including the Master's suite."

"Oh." She set her empty tea cup down on the silver tray. "Don't you think that's a bit…excessive?"

"Not at all. We count among our friends and acquaintances royalty and other distinguished personages. I can well afford Rosewood House, and should any of those people come to call, I should like us to have an adequate home in which to entertain and keep them." In truth, he had cared little about anything besides impressing upon Penelo the knowledge that he could care for her and their daughter, that they would want for nothing while in his care.

"Oh," she said again, looking conflicted.

"Penelo," he said. "If you do not like it, I shall purchase a home elsewhere."

She stared at him in silence for a moment. "Why would you do that?"

"I want you to be happy." _I want to make you happy. I want to keep you and Ellie with me always._

Carrison cleared his throat near the door. "Sir, if it is convenient, might I suggest that Miss Elionora take a turn about the garden with Alana?" He motioned to a non-descript maid who bobbed a hasty curtsy. "I imagine that a tour of the household might be frightfully boring for such a young lady."

"May I?" Ellie forsook the remainder of her cookies to grasp Balthier's hand imploringly. "May I, please, Papa?"

Balthier looked to Penelo for her consent. She gave it readily, foreseeing Ellie getting into all kinds of mischief if required to accompany them. "Behave yourself," she said. "And don't go jumping into mud puddles!" The last thing she wanted was for Ellie to track mud onto Balthier's lovely white carpets.

The maid ushered Ellie away, and Carrison escorted them out into the foyer. "If you will follow me," he said, leading them up the staircase. He launched into a history of the house, its previous owners, interesting facts about the area and such, but Penelo heard little of it. The house was splendid; elegantly designed and furnished, a veritable masterpiece of fashion and good taste. She found herself surprised by the warmth of the servants, who all smiled and greeted her kindly, and the general joyful feel of the house itself. It felt like a house that had been well-loved, that had seen many happy marriages and families. It had none of the cold, impersonal feel of the palaces she had been within. She couldn't help but like it, even if it wasn't the small house she had imagined.

"This is the Master's Suite," Carrison was saying as he flung open a very large door. "It has been recently renovated as per the Master's request."

Balthier led Penelo inside, while Carrison lingered in the doorway. As he showed Penelo into the small sitting room within the bedchamber, he heard the subtle sound of the door closing. Penelo was examining the bathing chamber and its overlarge bathtub with something akin to awe, and never heard it. A few minutes later, after admitting that the room was very pretty, she twisted the handle of the door. It didn't budge. Frowning, she twisted again, harder, but to no avail.

"I'm afraid it's locked," he said.

"Locked?" She repeated, bewildered. "Why would it be locked?"

"Because I requested it of Carrison. We will not be disturbed for several hours." He gently pried her fingers from the door handle.

"Several hours? What are we supposed to do for several hours?" She asked blankly.

His smile was immediate and sensual. "Ah, darling Penelo," he said, drawing her into his arms. "I'm going to make love to you."


	21. Chapter 21

Penelo's mouth opened and shut, for a moment giving her a vaguely fishlike appearance that made Balthier chuckle warmly.

"You're going to…what?" She felt sure she couldn't have heard him correctly.

"Make love to you," he repeated patiently, as though he were instructing a child who did not fully understand her lessons. His fingers tunneled into the hair at the nape of her neck, moving against her scalp caressingly. Unconsciously she leaned into his touch, even as she stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Oh," she said, like a complete goose. "But…but it's the middle of the day!"

His lips twitched with mirth. "Do you truly think that making love is something that people do only under the cover of darkness?"

Her cheeks flamed. "I wouldn't know," she shot back, aggravated and embarrassed. "_You're_ the experienced one!"

Her hair came down around her shoulders in a soft cloud of platinum – he'd been working out the pins and ties even as she'd been admonishing him. She blew a lock of it away from her lips, summoning the will to glare at him forbiddingly. She never found it, for he bent to brush his lips gently against hers. She couldn't imagine why she was letting him get away with it, with maneuvering her into his bedchamber and then ensnaring her there like a mouse in a trap. But his lips moved so gently on hers, and he'd been so different lately…and earlier, he'd actually said he _loved _Ellie, and furthermore, she'd _believed _him. And she couldn't help the tiny shred of hope in her heart that, if he loved Ellie, maybe he might…one day, he just might…

The bodice of her blouse gaped open – he'd effortlessly worked the knots even while fully absorbed in kissing her. She tried once again to fight her way back to sanity.

"Ellie –" she breathed.

"Is being entertained in the gardens as we speak, and will be most carefully watched over for the remainder of the afternoon," he responded, smiling wolfishly.

"Oh." Her fingers slipped over the butter-soft leather of his vest, catching in the space between the buttons. Clearly he understood that she was fighting to keep from assisting in her own seduction, for his smile widened.

"Have you any other protests you'd like to make?" He inquired innocently.

"I…I…" She couldn't think of anything. Except that she shouldn't be sleeping with him – but she was having trouble recalling exactly why that was. And it didn't help that she _wanted _to be in his bed. "I-I can't think," she said finally. Not when he'd slipped her blouse off of her shoulders and his hands were sliding warmly down her arms, bringing the sleeves of her blouse with them. Certainly not when he slipped her loosened blouse over her head and drew her into his arms.

The cold air in the chamber caressed her back, and his warm hands chased the chill away, smoothing over the bare skin of her back. His leather vest was cool against her cheek, and his warm breath stirred the hair at her temple as he murmured her name. Her arms were trapped between them, her hands splayed over his chest – it had been so long since he'd last touched her like this, so long since she'd allowed his embrace. Her mind raced frantically. He had bowed to her wishes for so long, now, allowing himself nothing more than a few soft kisses even though his eyes were so frequently hot and hungry when he looked at her.

His clever fingers had found the soft fabric belted around her waist, holding up her loosely-fitting trousers. A swift tug, and the material slipped from her, pooling around her ankles. She shivered – and stepped out of her well-worn sandals.

She'd never been more aware of her own appeal in her life than at that moment, standing before him in nothing more than a pair of delicate, lacy panties. He looked at her with that same burning expression to which she had become accustomed, only now…now she knew he had no intention of denying himself.

His eyes scorched her with the knowledge of his desire; he did not attempt to mask his fierce longing. For a moment she felt uncomfortably like a bunny caught in the den of a wolf – and he thoroughly looked as though he intended to play with his dinner before devouring it.

For all appearances, he could not get undressed fast enough to suit him – she read the desperate anticipation in his expressive eyes. And yet, for all that, he brought his hands up to his chest, working the buttons of his vest slowly, as though he thought she might turn tail and flee if he proceeded too quickly. But she noticed that, though his motioned were steady and sure, his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.

That vulnerability, more than anything else, convinced her that she truly did not wish to run. Not when he was looking at her – _Penelo_, of all people! – as though she were the beginning and end of his entire world.

So she waited, motionless, trying to control her ragged breathing as he carelessly discarded his vest and tugged off his boots. Then he took her into his arms again, and there was only the crisp white lawn of his shirt and the soft leather of his pants between her bare flesh and his.

And there his patience ended, for he gathered her into his arms and crossed the floor in a few quick strides, depositing her gently on the massive, soft bed. He joined her after shedding his shirt and tossing it aside, rumpling the perfectly-made covers as he crawled towards her. The tanned, smooth skin of his chest drew her hands, and he held perfectly still, allowing her the freedom to learn the contours of his body. Still he shuddered as her slim fingers caressed him, and his eyes went dark with passion and satisfaction.

He ended her fingers' exploration when she drew too near his waist, catching her hands in his to press his lips fervently against them.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, and his eyes blazed with the truth of his words. Then his fingers slipped into the soft mane of her hair, tilting her head to receive his kiss. The chill in the air faded as his warm body settled over her, his knee insinuating itself between her legs, pressing insistently at the center of her body.

She writhed beneath him as one of his hands slid down her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as it caressed the silken skin of her stomach, then slipped beneath the fabric of her panties to stroke her. Her breath sighed out as his expert touch sent little shivers of pleasure coursing through her body.

Restlessly, her legs moved against his, seeking that perfect combination of pressure and rhythm that he yet denied her.

"Balthier," she gasped, his name falling from her lips like a prayer, a helpless entreaty, "Balthier, _please_." Her hands had somehow unfastened his leather pants, desperately attempting to shove them over his lean hips.

"Darling girl," he murmured against her hot throat, dipping his head down to her breasts, his tongue flicking across a peaked nipple, catching it between his lips. She cried out at the sensation, her body hovering on the brink of satisfaction as he smoothly divested her of her last remaining garment. Deftly he slid one long, wicked finger deep inside her, and her back arched, her hips rising off the bed as a keening cry of pleasure tore from her throat. She fell over the precipice into ecstasy, shuddering as her body greedily snatched the last bits of sensual bliss.

Aftershocks of delight still shivered through her whenever she moved, but she dimly realized that Balthier's head was cushioned on her breasts, his breath coming in heavy pants. He was sprawled inelegantly between her splayed legs, his fingers playing softly over the crest of her nipple. His pants were still unbuttoned, but still high on his hips. And she realized – he was waiting to see what she would do. If she had come to her senses and would presently banish him from her bed, or if she would abandon all caution and welcome him into her body. Whatever the case, he was waiting, struggling with the force of his of his own unfulfilled desire, for her to make her decision.

Her palm settled over his bare back that was damp with sweat, stroking his warm skin soothingly.

"You're, um…a little overdressed, aren't you?" She offered lamely. Shifting a little, he peered up at her, quirking an eyebrow.

"Shall I take that as an invitation?" He queried softly, dropping a kiss on her collarbone.

Her cheeks flushed – she actually _flushed_, like a complete ninny! – and muttered, "I guess so."

He chuckled warmly, smoothing his thumb over her cherry-colored cheek. "You are too good, Penelo."

She grabbed the edge of the coverlet, dragging it up and over them, concealing her burning cheeks. "Just…just take off your pants, already," she snapped.

"There's no rush," he said, bussing a kiss over her temple. "We have all afternoon, after all."

There _was _a rush, for she wanted him inside her, wanted his powerful body moving over hers, wanted the sweet release only he could bring her – she wanted him like she wanted her next breath, with an incredible longing that both terrified and amazed her. But she certainly couldn't tell him that; she would die of mortification, and he would…well, she didn't quite know what he would do, but she was certain she wouldn't approve.

He must've sensed her impatience, because he obligingly began the arduous process of peeling off his pants. They seemed to have been molded to his long, muscular legs – she had little doubt but that they _were _a custom design, for Balthier's considerable vanity would not have allowed any less.

He jerked the material over his hips, yanking it down his legs. His manhood jutted proudly upwards, curving against his abdomen – evidence of his desire for her. Her mouth went dry; her fingers plucked nervously at imaginary lint on the coverlet. She had never looked before, had, in their previous two encounters, averted her eyes to avoid a betraying blush.

"You needn't look so terrified, darling, you already know we fit together," he chided gently, easing over to lie beside her, naked as the day he was born. Penelo, curiosity finally appeased, allowed her eyes to stray no further than his chest.

"I…I just never looked before." She drew a deep breath. He was right; she had no reason to be so anxious. She wriggled a little to get comfortable, then relaxed against the covers. Balthier was a magnificent lover. She knew that.

He propped himself up on an elbow, watching her face curiously. She appeared to be bracing herself for something – pain, perhaps. Of course he had hurt her the previous times they had made love – the first time she had been a virgin, and the second time as good as one, after several years of abstinence.

This time he wanted it to be different between them.

He slid his arms around her, drawing her against his chest, then turned with her in his arms so that he lay on his back and she lay over him, her legs splayed on either side of his hips. She drew in a sharp breath at the feel of him, hard and hot, pressed against her stomach.

"Balthier? What –"

"Hush, darling," he whispered, threading one hand through her hair to bring her lips to his. He nibbled her lower lip, coaxing her to open for him. She did, sweetly inviting him within. His tongue mimicked a more intimate act, while his free hand gripped her hip, rocking her against him. She liked the movement, for she made a purring sound deep in her throat that he felt in her kiss, and her nails dug little crescents into his shoulders. She was hot and slick against him, and every gentle movement brought him one step closer to heaven. So he rocked her forward a little more, arched his hips, and slid inside her a few scant inches.

Her back arched and her lips broke from his with a tiny cry of surprise. Her eyes, smoky blue and hazy with desire, widened in shock. Obviously she had never contemplated making love in this position and it clearly astonished her. She braced herself against his chest with one hand, shuddering as her adjustment forced him deeper.

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking gently. "Have I hurt you?"

"No," she denied, shaking her head. "No, it's just…I didn't think we could…I mean, I didn't know it was possible to…" She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn't make her further admit to her naïveté aloud.

He chuckled, charmed. "Darling, there are hundreds of different ways to make love. Thousands, perhaps. I can only hope to spend the rest of my life teaching you all of them." He arched his hips beneath her just a little, enjoying the way her eyes went soft and unfocused with pleasure at the slight movement. "Can you take more of me?" He asked.

She braced her palms against his chest, rocking back a little. He arched his hips at the same time, driving himself within her. "I…I'm not sure how to do this," she breathed. "Help me, please, Balthier."

"You're doing wonderfully," he managed, cupping her hips in large hands, helping her find a rhythm. She rose and fell on him at a delicious pace, her lovely face a mask of passion, her small, gasping cries music to his ears. She moved on him in a perfect, demanding rhythm, as though she were desperate to reach satisfaction, and she would use his body as a tool to help her get there, and he – he could not imagine anything more gratifying than assisting the beautiful woman in his arms in attaining her pleasure.

Her legs trembled against him, and he knew – from her delightfully flushed face, from the way her fingernails delicately clawed his chest, from the high, keening cries she made – that she was only moments away from climax. He gripped her hips firmly, thrusting upwards into the silky, wet heat of her body. Her nails scored his chest, a wild, desperate cry was wrenched from her, and her inner muscles clenched slickly around him. In the grip of her violent climax he was forced into his, clenching his teeth against the shout of pleasure that rose in his throat.

She trembled deliciously above him, still braced weakly by her unsteady arms. He drew her down against him, holding her tightly to his sweat-slickened chest as they struggled for breath, for a return of sanity.

His heart thudded heavily, and her fingers echoed the desperate rhythm, tapping her nails against his chest in time with the savage beat. He slid his hand into her hair and kissed her forehead, savoring the sweetness of her cheek pressed against his chest. Then he caught her fingers in his, stilling them by bringing them to his lips to kiss each digit tenderly. She watched him with soft eyes, reclaiming her hand when he'd finished, curling it into a fist, tucking it beneath her chin, and closing her eyes. She was asleep moments later, her deep, even breath feathering out softly against his throat.

---

Penelo woke sometime later, her head still pillowed upon Balthier's chest, tucked up against his warm body. His arms were twined around her protectively – he was so quiet that she might've thought he was asleep if it weren't for his fingers slowly, gently stroking over her bare back.

She raised her head, pushing her tangled hair out of the way.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with one hand. The other seemed to be caught, curled beneath his neck, her fingers buried in the soft hair at his nape.

"A little over an hour, I expect." His voice was warm and husky. He shifted a little onto his side, bringing her with him so he could nuzzle her shoulder. His lips were soft against her throat.

"Did you sleep, too?"

"No," he said. "But I didn't want to wake you. I was…thinking."

"About what?" She wriggled, settling against the cool sheets and drawing up the coverlet.

"About you. About Ellie. Would you…will you tell me about her?" His fingers found the smooth skin of her stomach, dipped into her navel, traveled higher to settle over her heart. His expression was inscrutable.

She worried the sheets between her fingers. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. How you felt when you realized you were expecting. How she was born. What it was like to care for her." He took a deep breath. "You must have been so terrified," he said, his voice faintly self-deprecating. "I have done many things in my life that I am not proud of, Penelo, but leaving you to raise our daughter alone…that is, perhaps, my greatest regret."

Her fingers drummed against his chest, carefully considering what she would say to him. "I was…well, it was nearly three months after you departed that I realized I was expecting Ellie," she said. "At first I was…very scared. I was so young, and I didn't know how I would manage. I knew nothing about caring for a child, and I had no mother to advise me. But…but at the same time, even when I was frightened of what would happen, I was…_happy_. It had been so long since I had had a family of my own, and I knew Ellie would fill that emptiness."

His fingers caught hers, wrapping around them comfortingly. "But you were still frightened."

She laughed a little. "Oh, yes. I suspect every expectant mother is frightened. I didn't know what to expect or even if I would be a good mother. And there were so many changes…not just in my body, but in the decisions I had to make, in the life I knew I had to leave for the sake of my baby. We took such risks in those days, and I couldn't…I knew I couldn't play an active role in Vaan's piracy, for fear of what would become of me and Ellie should we be caught." Her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and she sighed.

"When Ashe found out, she insisted I give it up and come to Rabanastre at once to stay in the Palace with her. Said she would have me apprehended and locked in a set of apartments within the Palace until Ellie was born, should I refuse," she admitted with a little laugh. "She was so good to us, Balthier."

At that moment, he had never been so profoundly grateful to anyone in his life as he was to the Queen who had rescued Penelo and their daughter in their time of need.

"And when Ellie was born?" he prompted.

"Oh, gods, I was _terrified_," she confided. "No one had told me how badly it would hurt. I was convinced I was dying, and the Ellie would die with me. It seemed to take days, although I was later told it was only a few hours, an uncommonly short labor period, especially for a first child. And then…and then the doctor handed me this ugly, wrinkly little pink body. She was squirming and wailing, and I thought, _This is what I have waited so long for? _But I loved her, Balthier. From the first moment they set her in my arms, I loved her. Even though she was ugly and blotchy and did nothing more than cry for the first three months of her life, I loved her more than anything."

As his fingers skimmed the soft, smooth skin of her stomach he tried to imagine what it would be like to feel his child there. Already she had born him a perfect, beautiful daughter – what would it be like to have felt that child sleeping peacefully there, cradled in her body? To watch her grow big with their child, to feel that child moving within her, preparing for the day it would be born? He regretted missing it with Ellie; wondered if he would ever again have that chance.

"I am…so sorry, Penelo," he murmured. "I wish I had been there. I wish I had not been such a fool."

Discomfited with the look of fierce longing on his face, she roused from her comfortable position and slung her leg over his hips, shifting to perch herself atop him, palms braced on his chest.

"I don't want to talk anymore," she declared confidently, and leaned down to place her lips against his. He didn't even try to resist her clever distraction – it was, after all, the first time she had truly initiated such a thing. But even as his hands came up to hold her hips, he knew – eventually, he would have his say.


	22. Chapter 22

They dressed in silence. And it wasn't even a companionable sort of silence, it was a silence filled with tension and things unsaid lingering in the empty space between them. Already he could feel her air of aloofness settling around her like a cloak, and that, more than anything, made him ill at ease. After what had passed between them that afternoon, he did not relish the return to her general frosty attitude.

And he was more bothered by the fact that in the hours they had been sequestered in his chamber she had not – never once – made any mention, even in passing, that she loved him. Before, though he had virtually had to demand the words, she had given them up willingly enough. He had hoped that she would not require prompting, but…

He wrapped his arms around her midsection, drawing her back against his chest. "Penelo, won't you tell me?"

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. She stiffed a little in his arms, and said: "No, Balthier." Then she wriggled away from him, working on plaiting her long hair and tying it with a bit of ribbon.

Unaccustomed to being so easily rebuffed, he, stupefied, repeated, "No?"

"No." She shook her braid over her shoulder, sliding her feet into her sandals. "Only a fool equates sex with love."

"You did before." He worked the buttons of his vest, frowning.

"I was a fool, before," she responded. "But no longer. I slept with you because I wanted to. Don't read anything into it that wasn't there; it had nothing to do with my feelings for you."

"But you _do _love me," he insisted, catching her hand in his. She attempted to draw her hand away, but he refused to let her.

"That's neither here nor there," she said. "The point is that sex doesn't require love. And that's all it was, Balthier. Just sex." She slanted him a sideways look and admitted, "Oh, all right, it was _good _sex…but that's still all it was."

He jerked her into his arms, more than a little angry. "If it was just sex, anyone would do. Why did you wait, then? Why, in five years, have I been your only lover?" His hands cupped her shoulders and he shook her a little. "Don't try to tell me it was _just sex_, Penelo, I won't believe it. And I don't think you do, either."

Her chin rose as she pulled away from him. "Believe what you like," she said. Turning away from him, she stalked over to the large chamber door and banged on it, shouting for Carrison.

A few moments later, Carrison's voice floated through the door. "Sir, it is not yet five o'clock…."

"Open the door, Carrison," Balthier said wearily. "Miss Penelo wishes to leave."

There was the sound of a key scraping in the lock, and then Carrison opened the door, stepping aside for Penelo to make her way through. She didn't look back as she did so, walking confidently down the corridor towards the grand staircase.

And Balthier was painfully aware that he had only four months left. Four short months in which to convince her to stay with him – or he would lose her forever.

---

They discovered Ellie out in the gardens, plucking flowers from a bush as a little grey cat rubbed its head against her ankles and settled beneath her skirts. The maid stood nearby, dutifully watching over her charge.

"Mama!" Ellie shrieked when she saw Penelo. She gathered up her skirts, flying across the perfectly kempt lawn to fling herself into Penelo's arms. "Look! Look what Uncle Larsa sent me!" She scooped up the cat that had trailed along after her, hoisting it up before Penelo's face. The cat looked at her placidly, blinking sleepily.

"It's _Princess_," Ellie exclaimed happily.

"Oh," Penelo said, stifling a laugh over Balthier's agitated expression. "So it is." Obviously Balthier had little fondness for cats and probably imagined that Larsa had sent Ellie's pet along only to further irritate him.

"She can stay here, right, Papa?" Ellie asked hopefully. "I know you said the _Strahl _is no place for a cat, but…but she can stay _here_, can't she?"

Balthier smiled wanly. "Of course she can, sweetheart."

Penelo allowed herself to imagine Princess running unchecked through the grand house, causing as much havoc with her sharp claws as Ellie would likely do simply by being an excitable child. Together, they could reduce Balthier's marvelous home to a complete shambles in mere days. Possibly hours! She smothered a mischievous grin at the thought. And Balthier – he would simply replace anything that was destroyed to avoid hurting his daughter's feelings. That thought vanquished the glee she had momentarily felt. Of course Balthier loved Ellie – of course he would allow her to keep a pet she loved, even if it had been a gift from his imagined rival.

But then – children were easy to love. They didn't contrive to hurt you. They were honest and open and completely unthreatening. The love between a parent and a child and the love between lovers were entirely different things. And even if Balthier was capable of one, it didn't necessarily mean he'd be capable of the other. She would be wise to remember that, even if, in the heat of the moment, she'd temporarily forgotten.

And besides, she eventually wanted to get married and perhaps have another child. Even if Balthier _did _love her, he was certainly not the marrying-and-settling sort. How could she even hope for a life with him when their goals were so fundamentally different?

His warm lips touched her cheek, jerking her out of her melancholy reverie. "Don't think so much," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. She resisted the urge to shrug him off, but stiffened nonetheless.

"Do relax. In future, I will refrain from speaking of love," he murmured for her ears only. "If a few hours of pleasure is all that you wish to share with me, then I shall take it and be glad of it. If you will not willingly give me your love, for now I shall be content to settle for companionship, darling."

Penelo found herself somewhat relieved, for if he could be prevailed upon to not read more into their dalliance than she was comfortable with, then there was naught to keep her from sharing his bed – for a while, anyway. If he asked no more of her than that, then she imagined she could leave in four months heart-whole and unscathed, and then she need never fear his interference again.

Of course she could not be coaxed into believing his protestations of love and affection –after all, he himself had admitted to not being at all familiar with the emotion. If he did indeed harbor some minor tendre for her, then it would surely die out sometime soon. And if it did not…well, she refused to borrow troubles. She would not allow herself to fall more deeply in love with him – instead, she would concentrate on disentangling her emotions and separating them from him, for the sooner she could do that, the safer she would be.

"I like it here," Ellie said, totally unaware of what had passed between her parents. "Can we stay for a while?"

"I'm afraid not, darling," Penelo replied. "We haven't brought anything with us. And I'm not sure the household is running smoothly enough yet to accommodate us."

"Just for dinner," Balthier said, hoping to appease them both. "Surely the household ordered enough for that, and then we must return to the _Strahl_."

Ellie whooped with delight, and Penelo shot him a darkling glance, clearly irritated with him for countermanding her.

"Come now, darling," he teased. "Surely a few more hours won't hurt. And I did make a promise to take her shopping for a bow and arrows. How am I to do that outside of the city? You wouldn't have me break my word, would you?"

Penelo bit her tongue to refrain from remarking on the value of a sky pirate's word. Instead she inclined her head gracefully, deferring to his request. Then she stood, calling to Ellie to join her, and together they retreated into the manor house.

---

Balthier's minor victory proved to be more trouble than he had imagined. Even as he sent out for a weapon smith and a modiste, Penelo wrung her hands in worry.

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," she murmured, half to herself.

"We have discussed this," he soothed. "It will behoove Ellie to be able to fend for herself. It will lend her some measure of security to have certain survival skills in the unfortunate event that she finds herself in danger. Even if such a thing never occurs, she'll be the better for knowing how to defend herself."

"But she's so _young_," Penelo insisted. "Surely this can wait. A year, two perhaps."

"She's growing every day." Balthier settled his hands on her shoulders encouragingly. "I know you want what's best for her, darling. And what is best for her is _this_. She can practice here, where she cannot be hurt. You know, don't you, that I will never let anything happen to her?"

She nodded absently, somewhat distracted, then sank down on the sofa, her hands over her face. "It's just…it's just that she's my little girl. She's all I…" She took a deep breath, settling her nerves. But her face still plainly showed her anxiety. "I worry," she said simply.

"I gather that all mothers worry about their children," he replied. He took up her cold hands, warming them in his. "But she needs this, Penelo. More than that, she _wants _it. Be happy for her. Be supportive."

---

Just an hour later, Ellie was fitted with a bow that was not overlarge for her small frame, as well as a quiver filled with lightweight arrows and a special glove that would prevent calluses from forming on her small hand. Balthier set up a target some yards away, instructing Ellie where to stand.

He showed her how to hold the bow, where to notch the arrow, and where to put her fingers. "Hold the string with just these two fingers…yes, perfect. Now, stretch the string taut – all the way, dearest, it needs to be pulled tight – now let go!"

The arrow flew wide of its mark, missing the target entirely to plummet to the ground, kicking up a clod of dirt when it landed. Still, it had sailed a goodly distance, and Balthier was suitably impressed. "Well done!" he said, ruffling her blonde hair affectionately. He jogged across the lawn to retrieve the arrow, and brought it back.

"I missed." Ellie looked disappointed. "I didn't even get close to hitting it."

"Oh, Ellie," Penelo knelt next to their daughter. "You did wonderfully. Why, when I was first learning to shoot a bow and arrow, it took me almost twenty tries simply to get the arrow to fly at all! And I was considerably older than you, at that."

Balthier handed the arrow back. "We'll keep practicing," he said. "With a bit of practice, I'm sure you'll be hitting the target before we're called in to dinner."

"All right." Ellie took the arrow Balthier proffered and stuck it back in her quiver. "I want to be as good as Mama is. Does that take a lot of practice?"

"Oh, _years_," Balthier replied. "Your mama is one of the very best archers I know. Luckily, you have many years ahead of you in which to practice. I've no doubt that one day you shall be just as good as she." He leaned down. "You ought to ask her to teach you some magic, as well," he whispered loudly. "She is far, far more advanced than I in that department."

"Balthier!" Penelo chastised. "One heart-attack inducing activity is enough for now!"

Ellie giggled, enjoying the attention of both of her parents. For all that she loved her mama, she dearly hoped that one day her mama would love her papa as much as her papa loved them both so that they could be a real family.

---

True to his word, Balthier instructed that dinner be served in the overlarge dining room at half-past seven. Ellie, elated with her success at archery – for she had, if only once, managed to hit the outer ring of the target – ate little but chattered away gaily, effortlessly removing the crisp, formal feel of their dinner. Penelo, too, ate little, despite the fact that the dinner was quite the best she'd ever had – and she had dined in palaces that employed some of the best chefs to be found. Course after course was served; a delicious, hearty soup, braised veal with a delicate cream sauce, grilled vegetables that even Ellie, a picky eater though she was, nibbled on, and finished off with caramelized pears topped with cinnamon. Penelo had half a mind to steal away to the kitchens to pry the recipes from the cook in residence. She had considered herself quite a good cook – certainly good enough to have operated a successful restaurant, and yet Balthier's chef quite put her formidable talents to shame.

The attentive servants, well-trained in their duties, cleared away the dishes as soon as they had finished, and Balthier announced that they intended to leave for the _Strahl _and would likely not be returning for some time. And so they packed up Ellie's new archery supplies and left the magnificent house to begin the long walk through the city towards the Aerodrome.

Iola's earlier interruption had quite spoiled the mood of their outing beforehand, and Balthier seemed eager to complete their shopping – he had insisted on stocking up on restoratives and potions of all sorts, especially considering that he intended to continue to teach Ellie to wield her newly-acquired weapon properly. While he was busily assembling all the things he thought they'd need – and some he hoped they never would – Penelo wandered into the marketplace to refresh their kitchen stores. Balthier had taken Ellie with him, insistent upon teaching her the uses for all the supplies he would purchase, so she wandered about aimlessly, searching for things that might come in handy. Space in her bag was relatively limited, so she settled for the essentials as well as a few small, unnecessary things that would help her improve her cooking. After such a wonderful meal, she found herself quite inspired to get a little more daring in her recipes.

As a shop keeper handed over a bottle of rather expensive cinnamon, Penelo felt a hand tap her on the shoulder. She turned, expecting Balthier – but instead it was a woman with soft brown eyes and honey-gold hair. She was quite pretty, and she had a mouth that appeared to smile a great deal. She exuded a general air of merriment that put Penelo quite at ease for all that she had no idea who the woman was.

"Do pardon me for interrupting your shopping," the woman said, bobbing a quick curtsey. "It's just that earlier I thought I saw you with a man who looked quite a good deal like…like my brother. I might be mistaken, and if so, I do apologize, but do you know a man called Balthier?"

"Your brother?" Penelo echoed. "Balthier? Then, you would be –"

"Mariette Bunansa," the woman said, smiling. "Now Lady Parr. I have been married these past eight years. You _do _know my brother, don't you? I _knew _it was him!"

"Yes, I'm…" Penelo hesitated. What was she to tell Balthier's sister? That she was his lover? That until recently she had been engaged to marry another man, but Balthier had swept in and virtually kidnapped her and their illegitimate daughter? "I know him," she settled on.

"He _is _around, isn't he? I should _so _like to see him! Why, the last time we met, I was just a child!" Mariette's enthusiasm was positively endearing – Penelo just hoped it wouldn't flee in the face of their precarious situation. For as much as she seemed nothing like her wretched older sister, Penelo was not about to subject Ellie to another round of biting sarcasm and unnecessary cruelty should the situation arise.

"Yes; he's procuring some supplies at the moment," Penelo offered. "We'd planned on only a small trip to the city."

"_We_?" Mariette latched onto that pronoun like a cat with a mouse. "You're traveling with my brother? Why, that _is _unusual, indeed! I had heard he kept as little company as possible, and that he had parted ways with his previous partner some time ago. May I ask how you came to know him?"

"Oh," Penelo said weakly. "Well, that is…we traveled together briefly, several years ago, to assist in restoring Lady Ashe to her throne." She forced the sentence out, aware that many Archadians still harbored feelings of ill will over the fact.

"That is quite the feat!" Mariette said kindly. "You must have been so young to perform such a task! And in the presence of my rakehell brother, no less," she said thoughtfully. "To be honest, it was quite a surprise to hear of his part in all that. I confess, when he left our home, I thought the worst. I imagined he would take to the skies and promptly be captured and executed – I never imagined he would become involved in such a noble undertaking; it does seem quite out of character for him, doesn't it?" She sighed; the long-suffering sigh of a sister distressed at her brother's recklessness. "But then, we always _did _play at pirates as children. I imagine he ought to have gotten along rather nicely, what with all that practice. Did you know I gave him the name Balthier?"

"No, I…I didn't. To be honest, he never spoke of you at all, until this morning," Penelo said.

"Yes, well, Balthier never did accept our family's numerous…dysfunctions, shall we say? He would not have found it at all pleasant to speak of us." She smiled. "I _did _give him the name, though, when we were children. I think it has a rather dashing air." She beckoned for Penelo to walk along side her, and slowly they strolled through thoroughfare. "You have piqued my curiosity, though. Why did Balthier speak of me this morning? Was he planning a visit?"

"I'm afraid not," Penelo said. "We had a rather…unpleasant meeting with your sister."

"That hag." Mariette wrinkled her nose. "I swear, I find it difficult to believe I actually share blood with that miserable creature!"

Penelo was thinking much the same thing. "Balthier was not planning a visit," she said, "I think because he fears that your reaction would be similar to Iola's. I'm sure he feels a tremendous guilt over leaving you alone while he escaped to make his fortune."

"That is so silly," Mariette replied. "And so utterly like Balthier! Though, to be honest, for a year or so I did harbor a great deal of resentment towards him. But within a few years, I married a wonderful man – he made all the necessary promises to my father to gain his acceptance, and likely before the ink was even dry on our marriage license, he spirited me off to the country, where we have lived quite happily for many years, now." She laughed gaily. "I don't think I have ever seen father so furious! It was quite a pleasure to see our butler tell him we were not at home and shut the door in his face even as I waved to him from the drawing room!" She slanted a glance at Penelo, who, having been the only daughter in a loving, happy family, had trouble imagining such a thing. "You may have surmised that neither of us hold any measure of love for our parents – but I count that a blessing, for they had no love for us, either."

Mariette shrugged, as if they were conversing on whether it looked like rain rather than the more serious topic of familial devotion, and moved on effortlessly. "I must beg your pardon. Here I have been chattering away, and without even asking your name!"

"Oh…it's Penelo."

"Penelo?" Mariette echoed. "That sounds so familiar, but I can't…" she stopped in her tracks, tilting her head inquisitively. "You wouldn't happen to have been recently engaged to marry our Lord Larsa, now, would you?"

Penelo grimaced. "For a very brief time. _Very _brief."

"Now I begin to understand!" Mariette clapped her hands with glee. "My brother, the dashing sky pirate! Did he burst in and spirit you away? Oh, that sounds so delightfully romantic!"

To the ever-cheerful Mariette, Penelo had no doubt but that it would be. "Not _quite _like that," she said. "I just realized that I could never go through with it – all the bowing and the scraping, it was so…so…and then there was my daughter to consider."

"Your daughter! I had completely forgotten!" Mariette gasped. "But…she _couldn't_ be Lord Larsa's child…then, who…?" Her hand covered her mouth as she read Penelo's decidedly embarrassed face. "That wretched brother of mine! I ought to skewer him!"

"No, please!" Penelo gasped. "It was a very long time ago, and…"

"Oh, not that he fathered your daughter," Mariette waved her hand dismissively. "But that he nearly allowed you to wed another man! How _could _he be so _stupid_?"

"It's not _stupid_," Penelo objected. "He was just giving me what he thought I wanted!"

"Bah," Mariette protested. "Honestly, for all that he has a perfectly marvelous title, _who _would prefer Larsa to Balthier?"

"I would," Penelo said. "Larsa loves me; Balthier does _not_."

Mariette cast wide, surprised eyes at her. "Are you very sure about that?"

"Oh, Balthier might _think _he has some sort of feelings for me. But he doesn't. You ought to know better than anyone – Balthier said that after growing up as he did, he wasn't at all sure he even had the capacity to love." Even thinking about it made her angry – angry that she couldn't believe in him. Angry that she didn't care. Angry that she might be foolish enough to stay with him even knowing he would never truly love her. "He feels some affection for me, likely only because I have his daughter."

Mariette pursed her lips. "I think you do not know my brother as well as you think you do."

"You haven't known him for years. Who's to say he hasn't changed?" Penelo argued.

"Because people don't change – not really. They grow, they mature – but Balthier, inside, will always be the boy I remember so desperately wanted the love of his parents and had to settle for the love of his sister. It is not that he does not know how to love, it is likely only that he doesn't _remember _how." She folded her hands in front of her serenely. "I think, Penelo, that even if you do not need my brother, he needs you very much."

Penelo felt almost chastened by the solemn speech. Uneasily, she tried for a new subject. "Would you like me to find Balthier for you?"

"I think not this time," Mariette said, smiling. "It is nearly time for me to rejoin my husband, so you may have him to yourself for just a little while longer. But be warned, for I _do _intend that shall we meet again, and I shall expect you to bring my niece with you!"


	23. Chapter 23

_I met your sister today. The one you've been missing._

The words came to Penelo's lips perhaps a dozen times in the next hour, but each time, for reasons unknown, she bit the words back. But again and again, the temptation rose to taunt her.

_She's not bitter; she's pleasant and kind and she wants to see you. She wants to meet Ellie._

And still she choked back the words. Perhaps Mariette had been more correct than she knew – perhaps it wasn't so much that she was temporarily relinquishing her claim on her brother's time, perhaps it was just that she simply understood that Penelo would not wish to share him as of yet.

After all, she had all of – what? – four months remaining? And then she could leave. No, not that she _could _leave, but that she most certainly _would_ leave. Of course she couldn't simply stay with him, for all that he had a beautiful home and piles and piles of money that he seemed to delight in showering upon Ellie and herself. Penelo didn't give a fig for all of that. In fact, she quite balked at the thought of selling her affections for mere possessions.

It was simply that, in her heart of hearts, Penelo knew that whatever Balthier's feelings for her were, they had to be temporary. After all, he had shown no particular difficulty in leaving her before. How much more easily it would be to leave her in comfort and at his disposal in his lovely home! And she was not one to sit idly by awaiting his pleasure, whenever – _if _ever – he chose to return to her. No, she wanted all or nothing – and _nothing _was all Balthier truly had to offer her.

Four more months, and that would be the end. The very end, as he had sworn to leave them in peace should she choose to go, after that time. And she would – she _would_! For her own sake, and for Ellie's. For all that she loved him, she had judged him and found him wanting. She refused to cherish foolish dreams in her heart – dreams of love, of _marriage_, when she knew it was not to be. Even if he did not yet know it, she did…eventually he would grow desirous of his freedom. And she would not be the one to tie him down to a life he did not truly want. Even though it hurt her heart, she would have to rescue him from his own folly.

"Is something bothering you?"

The softly spoken inquiry jerked her from the melancholy bent of her thoughts. She looked up at Balthier, hoping her inner turmoil didn't show on her face.

"No." She shook her head as if to clear it. "Yes. I – I don't know."

Somewhat amused at her hesitancy, he dropped into a chair beside her, folding his hands behind his head. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

She shrugged stiffly. "I – I don't know that there's anything to tell," she said. "I'm just concerned that we're not in complete agreement with one another." She gazed not at him but at some point just beyond his left shoulder, as if she could not bring herself to look him in the eye. "It's just that…I want to make it very clear. I don't mind sharing your bed, but you need to understand that I have no intention of staying here beyond the time we agreed upon. I just want to pretend that there's nothing beyond the four coming months, just the here and now. And then, when the time is up, we'll go our separate ways. No hard feelings, no regrets."

Balthier forced back the spark of anger that rose in him, carefully considering his next words. "I see," he said finally. "Am I to take from this that in addition to no love words, you wish for no talk of the future as well?"

"I would be appreciative of that, yes."

"Penelo, answer me this. Why are you so afraid to take a risk? Am I such a poor bargain?" He placed his hands on the table, stretched out before her.

"It's not that you're a bad bargain," she said, "it's that you don't know what you truly want."

"And you do?" He quirked a brow. "I am a grown man, Penelo. One would think I would have learned a bit about my own desires at this point."

"Whatever it is you desire, it isn't _me_," she insisted. "Surely you've had more desirable women –"

"_No_," he interrupted forcefully.

"Oh, come now, Balthier. Surely you don't mean to tell me you've been celibate these past five years! I wouldn't believe it." His obvious anger was firing her own – he was quite clearly furious, practically seething with it.

"No, I don't mean to tell you such a thing, Penelo," he said, his voice low and measured. "It would be a lie. I have not lied to you in the past and I do not intend to begin now."

"Oh." His honest, straight-forwardly delivered answer shut her up. She'd been sure it was the case, but somehow she hadn't expected him to admit it so easily.

"Would you like to know about them, Penelo?" he asked, suddenly. "Does it bother you that I have not lived like a monk for the past five years?"

It did! _She'd_ taken no other lovers, after all. Being responsible for her young daughter had influenced many of her choices. Determined to set a good example for Ellie – and entirely unaffected by the charms of other men – she had eschewed all but the most mundane and innocent of relationships. But she had always known Balthier did not love her and that he had not intended to stay with her. He had always been honest about his intentions. She fisted her hands in her lap, suppressing an irrational surge of jealousy over all the women Balthier had taken to his bed.

"Of course it doesn't bother me," she lied.

"I think you are afraid of the answer, but you needn't be," he said, rising from his chair. He moved silently closer. She resisted the urge to shoot up from her chair and flee. "But I will tell you, darling, that there have not been so very many." He stopped just before her chair, going to his knees before her. Reflexively, she drew back her arms, crossing them over her chest. He made use of the movement to commandeer her armrests for himself.

"The first one," he said, "was a dancer."

"I don't want to know!" Her voice rose to frantic pitch.

He reached out, touching her cheek gently, cupping it in the palm of his hand. "You need to understand," he said simply. "_I _need you to understand." There was no longer any anger in his voice, just a sort of quiet acceptance – and Penelo thought he truly believed he needed to explain himself. So she resigned herself to listening to the words that would cut her heart.

"She was a dancer," he continued. "Part of a ballet company in Archades. She moved like you; graceful, delicate." His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly.

"The second one was a waitress at a tavern in Balfonheim," he said. "She had your eyes, wide and curious – oh, perhaps not quite as enchanting as yours. But the likeness was enough for me." His fingers feathered over her eyelashes, which fluttered like the wings of a butterfly beneath them.

"The third – she was a shopkeeper in Bhujerba. She had hair like yours, so blonde it is almost white. It was a good deal coarser, but still almost exactly the same shade." His fingers delved into her hair, cupping the back of her neck, drawing her forward. His lips brushed hers so gently she was afraid she'd imagined it. "That's all, Penelo. All the women in five years; and all the time I was looking for you. I found you in parts of others, but it was never enough. And I could no longer be satisfied with a quick coupling." He sighed.

"You asked why I wanted you, and I shall tell you. I have everything money can buy – and _nothing _that money cannot. I have no family, few true friends. I have a house that is not yet a home. Now that I have witnessed all the things I could have that I do not, I find myself wanting them quite desperately. And, in the past months, I have learned that you are the only one that can give those things to me. I am a thief, but there are things that even I cannot take; they must be freely given." His forehead touched hers, his eyes closed as if he were in pain. When next he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. "The truth of it is that though I left you, Penelo, _you _never left _me_. You were always there; I just couldn't see it."

He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and pulled away, his eyes dark, expression veiled. "I'll set a flight course. Good night." He retreated to the flight deck, closing the door behind him. Penelo knew that she'd been dismissed; that he'd gone off to be alone. A lump formed in her throat – she could not swallow it away. Perhaps he was ashamed of the other women he'd had – but Penelo couldn't find it in herself to be angry. Jealous, yes, but angry…no. He had, after all, made her no promises. Even now, he made her no promises. And still, she felt relief – relief that he hadn't forgotten her after all during those years, even if he'd attempted to. She swiped her fingers across her face, unsurprised to find it wet with tears. Then she rose from her chair and retired to her chamber, spending the next few hours trying to figure out why exactly she so wanted promises from him when she intended to leave anyway.

Several hours later, her door opened silently, a small sliver of light cutting across the room. Curled up in bed, she watched him quietly shut the door behind him. Then, in the shadows, he carefully removed his boots and his clothing, laying them in a chair. He slipped into bed next to her and she shifted over to give him more room. He lay silently for a moment, close to her but not touching her, as though considering something.

"I have decided," he said slowly, "to take you up on your offer. We'll speak of nothing that might happen in the future."

Her breath feathered out on a sigh, but to her consternation, she felt mingled relief and…disappointment. Confused by the odd mix of emotions, she gripped the covers tightly in her fists, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I have some conditions, Penelo."

"C-conditions?" she faltered.

"Indeed. You said you wished to share my bed…and so you shall, every night, without fail. Even if it is only to sleep, you will share my bed." His tone suggested he'd spent a good deal of time considering the arrangement she'd proposed and coming up with his own counter-offer. "Additionally, if we are to be lovers for the duration of your stay, I require that you behave as such. I find being constantly and publicly rebuffed quite wearying."

"You want me to act like we're in a relationship?" she asked, incredulously.

"We _will _be in a relationship," he said, patiently. "It's not quite the one I would have chosen, but, as they say, beggars cannot be choosers." He shifted onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "I will not make it easy for you to ignore me, darling. I won't spend our remaining time together making love to you only to let you waltz out the door with nary a backward glance. And I absolutely refuse to let you walk away with our daughter without doing everything in my power to make you want to stay with me."

The intensity in his gaze was faintly intimidating. Still, Penelo rose to the bait like a fish to a hook. "That sounds like a challenge to me," she said.

A dark laugh escaped him as he leaned over her, brushing her lips with his. "Just so," he murmured. "But my guess would be, between you and I, it's going to be a war."

---

It _was _a war, Penelo admitted to herself – and every night he did his best to bring her to surrender, always in the most fascinating and shocking ways. His battlefield was the massive bed that dominated his chamber, and all too often she found herself splayed across it, crying halt, because he'd overcome her meager defenses, exhausting her energy. His stamina was boundless, and with his wickedly inventive imagination it was no wonder he managed always to leave her breathless and sated before he called a temporary truce, wrapping her in his arms as he urged her head against his shoulder to soothe her to sleep.

And with Balthier claiming her nights, Penelo had become somewhat of a late riser – though how Balthier could keep the same hours and still be up well before her, entertaining their energetic daughter, she had no idea.

More worrying was the fact that she suspected Balthier – the master strategist he was – was winning. Of course, she had never truly stopped loving him, much as she might wish such a thing were possible. Still, he'd taken a gamble that his acquiescence to her demands and his own counter-demands would bend her to his wishes, and she was beginning to think he might be right. He was going to make it very difficult for her to leave. Even seeing him with Ellie hurt her – she knew that Ellie wouldn't understand why they would have to leave, just as she knew that Balthier was banking on his blossoming relationship with their daughter to encourage her to choose to stay.

"She's doing wonderfully, isn't she?" Balthier asked, as they watched Ellie study the target intently, carefully notching her arrow and letting it fly. It soared towards the target Balthier had erected, embedding itself in the outer ring. Ellie reached for another arrow, made a minute adjustment of her aim, and let fly the second arrow, which struck a few inches close to the center.

"Yes," Penelo murmured. "She's already improved so much, and she takes it so seriously. It's unusual in a child of her age, but I think she desperately wants to learn." Penelo also suspected that Ellie desperately wanted to make her beloved Papa proud of her, and that Balthier's admiration for archery had influenced Ellie's desire to learn the skill.

Balthier slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her close. She didn't protest – in the past month, she'd grown accustomed to the easy affection he used with her. It had been odd, at first, from a man whose very manner warned people not to get too close – not that he seemed dangerous, simply that he used his often-overwhelming arrogance as a tool to keep people at a distance and limited his interaction with others on a personal level. She'd never truly imagined him as a man who would welcome or encourage physical contact outside of his bedchamber, but over the past month he'd used any excuse to touch her or to have her touch him.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked.

Quizzically, she looked up at him. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Not two weeks ago, you were always startled if I tried to hold you like this," he observed.

"Oh." She tucked her loose hair behind her ears, nibbling her lower lip. "I just…well, I guess I _was_ startled. I never figured you for the sort that would be so…openly affectionate."

He shrugged, as if he'd never really considered it. "I don't think I knew, myself. I suppose I simply never had the opportunity to be so."

"Oh?"

"I've told you what my family was like," he explained. "There are certain expectations among the aristocracy. Any display of strong emotion is considered weak, inferior. We were taught early that one affects a nonchalant attitude among one's peers and that one should develop an air of condescension for one's inferiors. There was no physical affection permitted in our household, and so I never knew I could enjoy such a thing." His arms tightened a fraction. "You can see how that upbringing has warped my family. Myself. Iola. I can only hope that Mariette escaped it unscathed."

All at once, the words Penelo had been holding back burst from her throat.

"She did. Balthier, I…I met her. A month ago, in Archades."

For a moment he said nothing, almost as if he had not understood her.

"You met _Mariette_?" He asked finally, as though he did not believe her.

"Yes." She swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn't be angry – _knowing_ he would be – and stammered out the rest of her explanation. "You had taken Ellie off with you, and she approached me because she'd seen us together earlier but she hadn't been entirely sure it really _was _you she'd seen." Her breath caught a little in her throat. She'd kept it secret from him for an entire month when she could have eased his guilt. How horrible she'd been! "Balthier, she's nothing like Iola; nothing at all! She's not bitter or angry at you. She loves you and she misses you and she wants to meet Ellie. She's happily married; she's escaped your father's legacy entirely unscathed."

She felt him step away from her, saw his face set in that cool, composed mask – just the one he must have learned at his father's side. And his eyes – clearly, at this moment, in his eyes she was _inferior_.

"You kept this from me?" he asked evenly, but a muscle worked in his jaw, betraying his volatile humor. Her heart plummeted.

"Yes." She wrung her fingers, distressed.

"Why?"

"I don't know!" Her voice rose to a high, tinny pitch. "I'm sorry, Balthier…I'm so sorry; I know how much you've worried. I know I should have told you sooner. I just…I couldn't seem to find a good time to tell you."

"You might've told me the day you met her. You might've considered that I would likely wish to know what you'd learned about the sister I hadn't seen in nearly fourteen years." His voice was harsh, his tone sharp. Even Ellie looked over from where she was practicing, surprised.

But he spoke only the truth, and Penelo had no response. Of course she ought to have told him; she'd known that. The guilt made her stomach pitch and roll viciously.

"Ellie, that's enough for today. Come inside and get ready for bed." He had managed to soften his tone when speaking to their daughter, at least. But then he turned on his heel and boarded the _Strahl_ without once looking back at Penelo.

It was what she had most feared – that typical indifference of his. It clearly cemented the knowledge that she couldn't stay with him…he would only walk away again. If he could not forgive her lapse in judgment, if this was truly his final goodbye, then she would endure. But she would not be on the receiving end of that cold, indifferent stare again. She would not wait for him to turn his back on her and walk out of her life. He'd just confirmed her worst fears, and she would never forget them again.

---

Balthier waited until Penelo had boarded the ship, then set a flight course for Archades. He passed her on his way from the bridge to his bedchamber, stoically ignoring her. He didn't trust himself to speak to her until he'd calmed his temper and spoken with his sister. Retreating to his chamber, he threw the lock, then flung himself in a chair, leaving Penelo to take care of putting Ellie to bed for the night.

Sure enough, he heard a quiet murmuring – likely Ellie protesting her bedtime, and demanding a story from Balthier. Gradually, the murmuring stopped, and long minutes of silence passed. In the all-encompassing quiet, Balthier had all too much time to think. Perhaps he'd been too harsh on Penelo. Yes, he'd been angry, and yes, he'd had a right to be so – but did he think she had kept the secret maliciously? No, of course not. Penelo didn't have a malicious bone in her body. He would have to make amends.

A chime sounded, alerting him that the _Strahl _was coming up on the Archadian Aerodrome. He would have to make amends _after _he saw Mariette.

---

Discreet inquiries directed him to the townhouse in which Mariette was currently residing in with her family. Although it had grown rather late, he found himself rapping on the door anyway, which was answered by an ancient butler.

"I've come to see Lady Parr," Balthier announced, stepping past the servant without waiting for an invitation. "Kindly inform her that her brother has come to call." The stoic servant recognized Balthier's determination and elected to inform his mistress rather than attempt to have Balthier removed. He led Balthier into the sitting room, then went to inform Mariette.

A few moments later, Balthier heard the quick slap-slap-slap of bare feet across the marble floor. The door to the sitting room was flung open, and Mariette burst through, breathing heavily. He rose, for a moment at a loss as to what to do. Somehow he was completely unable to reconcile the image of the woman in the doorway with that of the child he'd known so many years ago.

"Balthier!" she cried, flinging herself across the room and into his arms. "I could scarcely believe it when Lawrence informed me you'd arrived!"

She'd retained her youthful exuberance, it seemed, Balthier noted. "Why, you've hardly changed at all, Mari," he said.

She drew away, laughing. "That's not true!" she protested. "I'm an old married lady now, after all."

"Is that so?" His lips twitched. "Where is your so-called husband, then?"

"Oh, he's quite asleep," she replied. "He'll be up quite early in the morning caring for our son, Zandr. He can't stand the thought of leaving him to a nanny, and nor can I, if truth be told. My children won't have the wretched childhoods we had."

"You have a son? I have a nephew?" His family had expanded without his knowledge.

"More than that! Zandr is our youngest at two. Devon is six, and Ariel is four." She nudged him. "I understand you've got your own daughter as well. But…did Penelo not wish to accompany you here?" She looked a little put-out, as though she had been looking forward to seeing Penelo again.

"I…didn't ask her."

"Balthier!" Mariette chastised. "Why ever not?"

"I was rather angry with her. She neglected to tell me that she'd met you until today…even knowing how concerned I'd been, she still failed to tell me." He sank back down in the chair, sighing. "Perhaps I was out of line…too often it's one step forward, two steps back with her. And I'm running out of time."

"Oh, dear." Mariette wrung her hands. "I fear this is my fault. You see, she asked me when we met in Archades if I wanted to see you. I told her she could have you to herself for a while longer. You understand, don't you? She didn't intend to hurt you…perhaps she just wanted to have you to herself for a while. After all, you certainly wasted no time coming to visit today." She shot him a worried glance. "Are you sure that's wise?" she asked. "You ought not let a silly argument come between you like that."

"You're right." Balthier rose. "That was badly done of me. I ought to apologize."

"Yes," she said. "I quite liked Penelo. I should like you to bring Penelo and Ellie by some time to meet the rest of my family."

"I will," he promised. "Provided I can convince her to overlook my foul temper."

"Go, then!" she made a little shooing motion with her hands. "The sooner you apologize, the better. Don't forget to grovel; women _love _that!"

---

Balthier knocked on Penelo's door and received no answer. But it wasn't locked – and she wasn't within. He was seized with a momentary panic…had she left while he was out? Had he driven her away? His heart in his throat, he pushed open Ellie's door – and sighed his relief. Not only was Ellie within, but so was Penelo, curled up beside the child in bed, fully dressed.

Of course, she would be. All her things had been moved to his chamber, and he'd locked her out of it. That had been thoughtless of him. He had more to answer for than simply losing his temper.

Carefully he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as he carried her back to his bedchamber, opening the door silently. He laid her gently down on the bed, easing off her clothing and tucking her beneath the covers, then crawling into bed beside her. In her sleep, she snuggled against his side, tucking her head beneath his chin.

He hoped that was a good omen.


	24. Chapter 24

Rustling fabric awakened Balthier from a deep sleep. He shifted, blearily rubbing his eyes. It was far too early to be awake, especially after the late night he'd had racing back to Archades to see Mariette. At once his eyes opened – of course, it was morning, and he had not yet had the opportunity to apologize to Penelo for his behavior the previous day.

His eyes slid across the room to where she was standing, fully dressed, hastily shoving her clothing in a trunk. Panic clutched him, but he took a deep breath and let it out slowly to avoid overreacting.

"Are you running, then?" he asked.

She looked over her shoulder briefly, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. "If you're asking if I'm going back to Rabanastre, the answer is no," she said. "I keep my promises." She flipped the lid on the trunk, latching it securely. "I'm moving my things back into my room."

"Penelo, we had an agreement."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "I'm calling it off."

"That's as good as breaking a promise," he countered.

"No, it's not. I wanted something from you, and you wanted something from me. It was just a simple bargain." She picked a pair of shoes off the floor, setting them on top of the trunk. "It's no longer a mutually beneficial arrangement. You don't have anything I want."

"You're angry."

"No." She blew out a breath. "No, I'm really not. I understood your anger, and I deserved it. It just…it made me realize that I've been living in a fairytale up until now. The way you looked at me yesterday…I felt I was beneath you. I think you wanted me to feel that way. Maybe it wasn't consciously done, but the fact is that you're _accustomed_ to making people feel inferior, and I'm not at all accustomed to it. Oh, I'm accustomed enough to _feeling _inferior, but…I would expect to feel different around someone with whom I was romantically involved. I want a real relationship, a partnership. I don't want to play cabin boy to your captain. I want to be on equal footing, and it's become _quite _clear that we'll never have that. Not with that Lord of the Manor attitude you've perfected."

She tossed her hair brush and accessories into a leather bag. "I won't ever learn that behavior _or _use it with anyone, and I don't want Ellie to learn it either." She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes momentarily, as though gathering her strength. "You just…walked away, like I was nothing to you. And I realized that's all I would have to look forward to if I stayed. Being left behind, being treated indifferently, coolly, or even with the disdain you showed me yesterday. We're too different, Balthier. You _must _have noticed that. You turned your back on me yesterday. I couldn't bear it again. I won't even give you the opportunity to do so. I _won't_."

She made a lot of valid points, and it stung to have his sins cast up before him. "I've told you before that I won't leave you. You simply don't trust me."

She laughed bitterly. "When have you given me a reason to trust you? When you slept with me and left me pregnant? When you avoided me for five years? When you infiltrated Larsa's palace to see Ellie behind my back? When you kidnapped me and used Ellie to hold me hostage? When you turned your back on me yesterday?"

He had done all of those things, but he had not been ashamed of them before now. Too late he was realizing that the ends didn't always justify the means. He had made so many mistakes, it seemed, and there were so many black marks against his name – every error he'd made, every transgression he'd committed had made Penelo more and more wary of him and his intentions.

She turned, slinging her bag over her shoulder. There was no anger in her face. It concerned him – her anger he could have conquered. No, she wasn't angry…she was _terrified_. And he could not face her fears for her, or force her to give them up. He was desperately afraid that proving himself to her would take more time than he had left.

"I'm not angry," she said. "Really. I'm not. I'm very sorry I didn't tell you about Mariette. It was wrong. I behaved poorly. You had every right to be furious with me." She sighed heavily. "I'm just…so tired. Please, just let it go. Three months left, and we can go our separate ways." She pulled the door open, then grabbed her trunk and headed for it, pausing with one foot over the threshold. "Let's just end this with no hard feelings, okay?"

---

Penelo behaved with grace and dignity, never letting on to Ellie that she and Balthier were no longer on amiable terms. She neither pouted nor railed; she treated him with courtesy and politeness – but there was an eerie sort of distance in every query she posed. He suspected she was trying to set herself up as something of a live-in maid until the terms of their agreement were at an end. She cleaned and cooked, accompanied Balthier and Ellie on outings and trips into the cities, but she never dropped her guard even for a second.

He wondered if he'd killed the fragile, blossoming bud of their relationship, for surely something in her had died – some light, some hope that had previously been present in her eyes whenever she looked at him had vanished, extinguished like a candle. And though he tried desperately to engage her emotions, to get her to talk with him like they had before, she continually resisted his efforts. She was unwilling to give him a chance, unwilling to overlook his previous behavior and try again.

And he couldn't exactly blame her – after all, he had been nothing but cocky and overconfident, arrogantly disregarding her wishes in favor of his own. This new Penelo could not be seduced, could not be swayed or coerced into spending time with him or allowing him the opportunity to redeem himself.

The only thing he was certain of was that in a little under two months, she would leave him, and she would never look back. She had written him off as a loss. He wondered if she thought of him at all, if she regretted her decision to cut him out. Then, whenever he chanced upon her playing happily with their daughter, he knew that she wouldn't. After all, she didn't _need _him. She'd never needed him – she'd done quite well on her own for the past several years, and she would do it again. She'd been completely honest with him – he had nothing to offer her, nothing to convince her to stay with, except the love that he held for her that she refused to believe in.

And once his time was up, on his word of honor, he had sworn to let her go and never to see her again. He simply didn't know if he could go through with it. It would make him an outlaw once again, and it would make Penelo loathe him more than she already did, but, gods help him – he didn't think he could simply give her up.

---

"Mama, Auntie Mari wants to talk to you."

Penelo resisted the urge to roll her eyes. While Balthier had eventually ceased his attempts to win her over, his sister – whom Penelo had once thought _charming _and was now more accurately described as _relentless _– had taken up his cause for him.

"Thank you, darling. Why don't you go to the kitchen and have a snack while I talk with her?" She smoothed Ellie's wild curls – she had, after all, spent the day at the seashore with Balthier – and urged her out into the corridor.

"Okay!" There was a brief pause. "Mama, are you very stubborn?"

That brought Penelo up short. "I've never considered it. Why do you ask?"

"Auntie Mari said I should remind you that being so stubborn is childish and that you shouldn't be setting a bad example for me." She paused briefly, looking at Penelo shrewdly. "_I_ don't think you're a bad example."

Penelo doubted Ellie would know a bad example if it bit her on the bottom. She was lucky in that Ellie's not-so-subtle manipulations remained so transparent. "_I_ think you're angling for one of the cookies we baked last night."

Ellie's eyes lit up. "Cookies are very good snacks, you know, Mama."

Penelo held up a finger. "One. _One _cookie, regardless of what your papa tells you."

"Okay! I promise!" Ellie darted down the hallway, disappearing into the kitchen. Penelo sighed, shaking her head as she headed for the small room just beside the bridge that housed a screen for private communication. She could have used the bridge for the same purpose – the screen was bigger, anyway – but Balthier was likely to be in there, and she did not particularly wish him to overhear.

Her stomach did a peculiar little flutter as she reached the room, but she couldn't decide if it was nerves over what was sure to be a trying conversation with Balthier's sister or if her stomach was still just a bit sour – she _had_, after all, been feeling a bit under the weather as of late. She'd never been particularly prone to motion sickness, but Balthier had begun teaching Ellie about flying airships, and she supposed she just wasn't used to the sudden, jerky motions. They caused her stomach to pitch and roll alarmingly, and more than once she'd made a quick dash for the bathroom.

Ignoring the vague queasy feeling, she stepped inside the room, steeling herself for the coming assault. Mariette's image was projected on the screen before her; she was sitting patiently, waiting with her hands folded elegantly in her lap.

"Mariette," Penelo said. "You're looking well."

And indeed she was – but Penelo could not recall a time when Mariette looked less than stunning – even though she frequently sported cookie crumbs and jelly stains, no doubt a hazard of having three young children.

Mariette eyed her shrewdly. "I wish I could say the same. You look positively green around the gills."

"It's nothing. Ellie's been learning to fly the airship." Penelo couldn't keep the grimace from her face. "I'm afraid my stomach isn't quite as strong as I thought it was."

"I see." Mariette pressed her lips tightly together as though she were trying to refrain from saying more than that. "Have you reconsidered leaving my brother?"

Penelo sighed. "You ask me every time we talk and my answer has never changed."

"One can always hope. I do want you to know that if you do _not _reconsider, I shall be forced to make an absolute menace of myself when you have returned to Rabanastre. I believe my children could do with a little sojourn to Dalmasca for some cultural enlightenment. Of course, we shall simply _have_ to visit several times a week. While my brother may have made a foolish promise to leave you in peace, _I _have made no such agreement. I mean to be as annoying as possible, which ought to be quite an impressive amount. Additionally, I mean to keep my brother apprised of everything. _Everything_," she repeated, as if it ought to have some sort of significance to Penelo.

Penelo clenched her jaw – which proved to be wise decision, because the airship suddenly lurched to the side, taking her stomach with it, and she was forced to scrabble for purchase to remain upright.

"Perhaps you should lie down," Mariette suggested. "All that tossing about can't be good for your health."

"I'm _fine_," Penelo reiterated tightly. "Except for this motion sickness which ought to pass when Ellie gets a little more proficient." Which would likely take the remaining month and a half, if Penelo's wretched luck was any indication.

"My, we _do _get irritable, don't we?" Mariette quipped brightly.

"Only when forced to make a near-daily statement of my intentions which are then questioned and subsequently regarded as foolish or selfish."

"Penelo," Mariette said, taken aback. "I never called you selfish."

"You didn't have to. It's fairly obvious what you think." Penelo rather thought she resented that a little – her decisions were her own, and not for anyone else to question.

Mariette sighed. "I _don't _think you're selfish," she said. "I do quite agree that my brother has acted like a proper ass and he deserves a little punishment for it, but he _loves _you, Penelo –"

"_Don't_."

"Oh, very well." Mariette had given up at attempting to convince Penelo of Balthier's regard. "It's just that…I did _so _want a sister. One that wasn't," she motioned vaguely, "_Iola_. I'm sure you understand. So, in actuality, I think _I _am the selfish one. And I do like you very much, you know. I think Ellie is quite adorable, but of course she will always be my niece by virtue of blood. I may only call you my sister by virtue of marriage, and that only if you actually marry my brother. I am sure you can see my dilemma." She let out a long sigh. "Penelo, I am quite certain you are the only woman that can make my brother happy, and I do _so_ love him and want his happiness above all else. And I am sure he could make you happy if only you would let him try. Won't you marry him, if only for _my_ sake?"

Despite her best efforts, Penelo couldn't help but smile at Mariette's amusing machinations. But she shook her head. "Three problems: first, he hasn't asked me to marry him. Second, he's not the marrying sort. Third, I wouldn't marry him even if he _were _the marrying sort and _did _ask me."

"I suspect you may be wrong on the first and second points – truly, though Balthier has shown little interest in marriage so far, I believe that it is only because he had never found anyone he wished to share his life with, and I believe he hasn't asked you to marry him simply because he knows you will refuse," Mariette argued.

Penelo shrugged her shoulders. "It hardly signifies, considering that I don't intend to marry him even should he deign to ask."

Mariette clasped her hands together. "I pray you will one day change your mind."

"I doubt it. But you're a very devoted sister; I'm sure Balthier is pleased to have you back in his life." Penelo attempted to change the subject, but it was received with only a curt nod and silence.

"Well," Penelo said. "I'd better get back to Ellie."

"Of course." Mariette said. "By the way, Penelo, you seem to have gained just the tiniest bit of weight lately. How do you suppose you managed it being so sick?"

Caught off-guard, Penelo floundered. _Had _she gained weight? She'd not noticed. "I suppose I couldn't have a high metabolism forever." She cleared her throat. "I might have to cut back on the sweets. Ellie'll be only too willing to pick up the slack, naturally."

"Hmm," Mariette murmured noncommittally. "I wish you the best of luck with your…malady."

"Yes, well…I'll have some ginger ale and then go have a nap." Penelo hesitated. "For what it's worth, Mariette, I hope you know that I would never be so spiteful as to forbid you to visit Ellie. She is a part of your family as well, after all. I would be delighted if you would come to see us from time to time."

"Oh, I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other than that," Mariette remarked cryptically. "But enough already; you look near to swooning." She made a little shooing motion. "_Do_ go have your nap. But if you would be so kind as to send Balthier in, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Of course."

Mariette inclined her head gracefully, every inch the proper lady. To Penelo, that delicate motion rankled – yet another reminder of how ill-suited she and Balthier were. Of course he and his siblings would have been raised with such courtly manners. Penelo, however, remembered precious few of her mother's simple etiquette lessons, and the seemingly-effortless nature of Mariette's pretty manners Penelo was certain she could not perfect had she a hundred years in which to accomplish it.

She left the room and rapped quickly on the door of the bridge, informing Balthier that his sister had requested his presence, then quickly retired to her bedchamber, forgetting her ginger ale entirely. Though it was, as yet, only early evening, she changed swiftly into a nightgown, and climbed into bed. Surely a nap would go a long way towards easing her stomach.

The ship tilted alarmingly to the left. Penelo's stomach rolled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping desperately for the ship to right itself. When at last it did, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief as her stomach slowly settled.

The ship pitched right. Penelo leapt from the bed, flew out the door, and dove for the bathroom just in time for her stomach to empty itself violently. She hung over the toilet, retching long after her stomach had surrendered the last of its contents. Miserable and shaking, she made her way back to her bedroom, and curled up in bed, praying for sleep to come.

---

"I think you ought to keep an eye on Penelo," Mariette suggested cheerfully.

"She's fine," Balthier responded irritably. "Just a touch of motion sickness, so I am given to understand. Truth to tell, it has even somewhat affected _me_." He shook his head despairingly – clearly, Ellie was not taking to navigating with nearly ease with which both he and Penelo had. Or maybe the problem was that she had too much of _his _recklessness, and not nearly enough of Penelo's even temperament. Gods help him, when she became old enough to fly an airship unaccompanied, he simply _knew _that she would be giving him conniptions with her aerial acrobatics. Just the mere _thought _made him queasy. Or maybe it was simply the recent dips and dives she'd performed. He wondered if Penelo had come through them all right – or if, in fact, she'd cast up her accounts, as she had several times in recent days. Perhaps it would be kind to suspend Ellie's lessons for a brief period of time to give Penelo a short respite…

"Balthier? _Balthier_!"

"What? Oh, sorry." He had the good grace to look abashed. "What were you saying, Mari?"

"Nothing of any importance," she huffed, clearly offended at his lack of interest. "If you can't be bothered to actually pay attention to me, then far be it from me to spill any secrets, so you'll just have to figure it out on your own. And if you haven't already, then you are more of a lackwit than I'd imagined!" With an inelegant sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl, she leaned forward and clicked a button, and the screen went dark.

Balthier stood in the darkened room for a moment, wondering just what the hell Mariette had gotten herself into a snit about, and why, when he was usually so _wonderfully _good with women, they all suddenly seemed to despise him.

---

Penelo glared at her trousers. Unfortunately, it had no effect whatsoever on the garment – despite the fact that Penelo thought she was really rather intimidating when she glared – and they remained exactly as they were.

Which was to say, too small to fit any longer. Or, in less flattering (but exceedingly more accurate) terminology, it was _Penelo _who was suddenly too large for _them_. Only, not so suddenly, really – she distinctly remembered them fitting rather snugly a few days prior. And now they were simply too tight to button. In point of fact, she could no longer even get the button and the buttonhole within an inch of each other, even when she sucked her belly in as far as she could – which was, admittedly, not as far as she'd _used _to be able to do.

With a heavy sigh, she cast aside the garment, then dug in her trunk for her loose-fitting drawstring pants. Those she was _certain _would fit, because she'd been able to wear them even when she'd been pregnant with Ellie.

_Pregnant_.

Her knees gave out; she sat down on the edge of the bed hard enough to force the breath from her lungs.

_Of course_. It explained everything. The nausea (which had lessened after the cessation of Ellie's flying lessons, but had not altogether ceased), the weight gain (even when she'd been losing her meals nearly as often as she ate them), the fatigue. _Everything_.

Slowly she forced herself to stand, lifting the hem of her shirt to inspect her waistline. Which had definitely expanded. Not so much that it would be incredibly obvious, but…but certainly enough that _she _could tell, and obviously enough that Mariette could tell.

A hoarse laugh escaped her throat. _That _was why Mariette had sounded so skeptical – Mariette hadn't believed Penelo had motion sickness at all – she'd suspected she was _pregnant_. But – would she tell Balthier her suspicions? Penelo couldn't be certain.

For that matter, even _Penelo _couldn't be certain she was pregnant. Except for the weight gain (which really, so far had been relatively minor), all her other symptoms could be chalked up to a cold or a virus of some sort. It was possible. It was _entirely _possible she wasn't pregnant, that she wouldn't have to subject another child to the less-than-ideal relationship she and Balthier had created for themselves. A child deserved to have two parents. She would never be able to give Ellie what she so desperately craved – a life shared with _both _of her parents. How horrible it would be to bring another child into that life.

And so, for the first time in her life, Penelo clasped her hands together, and prayed to be ill.


	25. Chapter 25

It was simply time to face the facts. She wasn't sick. Well, not unless one counted morning sickness. And she was, unfortunately, quickly outgrowing most of her clothing. And unless Balthier was either a complete idiot or entirely oblivious (which he most certainly was not), he was soon going to discover her predicament, and then she would surely be in for it.

Unless she told him before he managed to figure it out for himself. But then, what, precisely, would be a graceful way to tell him she was pregnant?

There wasn't one. And as soon as he found out, he would no doubt redouble his efforts in enticing her to stay. For all that he might make a terrible husband (or boyfriend, or whatever he wanted to call their relationship, as she was fairly certain he had no desire to marry), he really was a wonderful father, and he would obviously wish to be involved in his children's lives.

Penelo wasn't at all sure that she could handle such a relationship. Maybe she could work something out with Mariette. Balthier could have alternate weekends with the children, and a few weeks in the summer, once school let out. Mariette would surely have no problems watching over the children for a few hours so that Penelo could safely escape before Balthier came to retrieve them.

She drew a quick breath, but the air sat heavily in her lungs, stagnant and stale. No matter how she might wish it otherwise, they were bound irrevocably through their child. She gulped. _Children_. Through their _children_. What would he do when he learned she was pregnant? Would he go back on his word? Keep her from leaving? He'd been so angry that she'd kept Ellie from him for so many years – would he insist upon seeing her through her current pregnancy? Would he _ever _honor his vow to leave them in peace?

She rubbed the slight swell of her belly anxiously. Of course she would love her child. How could she not? Still, her attitude regarding her impending blessed event was, decidedly, _blah_. She wasn't prepared; she wanted to put it from her mind, to ignore it for as long as possible. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to obsess over whether or not this one would be a boy or a girl, whether it might look like Balthier, talk like Balthier, or, gods forbid, _act_ like Balthier. It was bad enough that she'd probably spend the rest of her life desperately in love with a man that she could not, in good conscience, allow herself to be involved with. She'd had her heart trampled too many times. Only a fool would offer her heart up again, expecting a different result. And Penelo was no fool.

---

Though the changes in her body were slow to manifest, she knew she could not expect to hide the truth overly long – and indeed, it wasn't long at all before they were noticed.

Balthier had noticed only that she'd made minor alterations to her wardrobe. Gone were the form-fitting shirts, gone the trousers that hugged her hips, molding themselves to her slender legs. In their place appeared loose blouses and drawstring pants, camouflaging the bourgeoning thickness of her waist, the slowly swelling bulge of her abdomen. He simply thought she was trying to hide away from him in the desperate hope that he would cease to desire what he could not see. He could have told her it was not the case, it would _never _be the case, but she was so intent upon putting as much emotional distance between them that he had not the heart to speak of it.

However, Ellie, with all the brutal honesty of a small child, made it clear what she thought.

"Mama," she said over dinner one night, "you're getting _fat_."

Penelo choked. Her fork clattered against her plate; she was shocked to find her fingers trembling. Attempting some degree of poise, she reached for her cup, gulping down her apple cider with fervor.

"Ellie," Balthier reprimanded immediately. "Don't be rude."

Ellie thrust out her chin stubbornly, looking so like Balthier that Penelo's heart wrenched.

"But it's _true_," she insisted. "My friend Elani's mama got fat once, too, but Elani said it was because she had a baby growing in her tummy."

Penelo felt the blood drain from her face. Aghast, she glanced at Balthier, seeing the very moment that comprehension dawned on his handsome face. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She dropped her eyes to her plate, lifting her fork to her lips mechanically, desperately hoping she was not as pale as she thought she was.

"Penelo?"

The gentle inquiry sent the blood rushing back to her cheeks – too fast. Her face burned with her flush. She willed herself to swallow past the lump in her throat, then carefully set her fork down beside her plate. She was trembling, and she prayed Balthier would not see. But, of course, his sharp eyes noticed everything. She knew he saw the truth she could no longer hide; her meager camouflage destroyed by a five-year-old.

She pushed back her chair and stood. "I…I'm not feeling very well," she blurted. And then, like the coward she was, she fled to her bedchamber, the harsh click of the lock burning her ears. In a haze of confusion and embarrassment, she changed into a soft cotton nightgown and slid between cool sheets, curling up into a little ball. Her throat ached with unshed tears, but the satisfaction crying might have brought eluded her.

---

Though Balthier longed to go after her, other things required his attention at present, namely his daughter.

She shoved her peas around on her plate, her lips pursed into a frown. "Is Mama mad at me?" She asked finally.

He sighed. "No, darling. If anything, she's angry with _me_."

"I called her fat, though." Her chin trembled.

"You ought not have done," he acknowledged. "If you can't say something nice, you ought not say anything at all."

"I know, Papa." She sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right. You know your mama loves you very much. She'll always love you, even if you say things you ought not."

"Even if she has a new baby?" Ellie asked. "Elani said when the new baby came, nobody cared about her anymore." She pushed back her chair, moved to his side, and placed her small hands on his knee. "I don't want mama to have a new baby if she's not going to love me anymore."

"Oh, darling." He lifted her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. "No matter what happens, your mama will always love you."

"And you, Papa?" She snuggled closer; he felt a seeping, wet warmth against his shirt and knew she was crying. "Even if you have to go away, will you still love me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened, stroking her soft blonde curls. "_Always_," he said. His heart wrenched in his chest, and he took a shuddering breath. "_Always. Forever_."

---

Only after Ellie had been safely tucked into bed did he approach Penelo's bedchamber.

He knocked softly. "Penelo?"

No sound came from within. He knocked again, and tried twisting the handle. It didn't budge. She'd locked the door against him. Predictable, but irritating. He sensed somehow that entreating her to open the door was unlikely to work, so instead he fetched his lock picks and got to work. The lock gave quickly and easily under his ministrations. The door swung open, and he stepped silently inside. She was there, on the bed, buried beneath a mound of blankets. She was curled up into a ball, as though she were protecting herself from the unpleasantness of the world.

Though his stomach was clenched with uncertainty, he forced himself to speak gently to her. He had already wounded her once – he would not willingly do so again. Especially were she truly in the delicate condition he strongly suspected she was.

"Penelo?"

"Please leave." Her muffled voice came from beneath the wadded covers. "I'd thought locking the door would've been a fairly good indicator that I don't really feel like talking."

Not two minutes into conversation, and he'd already put her on the defensive. He sighed heavily, but drew closer to the bed, taking a seat on the edge. She curled up tighter, hiding herself, shifting further away from him.

"Don't. Please." He stayed her motions, placing one hand on her hip…or, where he thought her hip was. "I'm not angry; I'm not going to shout or…" What else had she accused him of? "Or be condescending. I simply want to…talk. I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me."

"Tell you what?" He heard the accusation in her tone; she knew he'd pieced together the puzzle himself.

"Anything. Whatever you think I ought to know." And if he didn't get the answers he was looking for…well, he already knew anyway. The most he could do was to let her tell him in her own good time, without casting anger or blame upon her. As soon as he'd figured it out, he'd known why she'd kept it from him. She feared a repetition of what she'd suffered not long ago. And giving her what she'd expected would guarantee her rapid departure from his life. If he handled his poorly, she'd truly run and never look back.

"What if I don't have anything to tell you?" This, suspiciously. He cleared his throat, striving to keep his tone even, neutral.

"That is your decision. However…I hope you understand that I am available whenever…_if _ever you decide you wish to talk." He forced himself to his feet, struggled against the burning desire to stay, to coerce her into confessing all. Fought against the knowledge that he could compel Penelo to do nothing, and that his attempts to do so would only strengthen her resentment.

His fingers brushed the doorknob.

"Wait." She struggled to free herself from the covers, and he expelled a silent sigh of relief.

She emerged victorious from her brief battle with the blankets, hair delightfully mussed, pale blue nightgown slipping off one shoulder. It was hardly a seductive garment – shapeless and clearly old, the soft fabric worn nearly sheer, but the sight of her so vulnerable, disheveled, and self-conscious stirred Balthier more than he cared to admit.

"Maybe you should stay for a minute," she offered tentatively.

He took the opening with good grace, reclaiming his previous position on the bed. She said nothing for several moments; merely she studied him as though judging whether or not she wanted to share her secret after all.

"Perhaps you should lie down," he suggested. "You look frightfully pale." Slowly he pulled the blankets away from her bare feet, smoothing them out. She eased herself down back and he drew the covers over her, smoothing her hair away from her face. She gave him her back, turning to face the wall, and for a moment he was afraid she would order him from the room again. But she didn't protest his fingers combing through her soft hair. After a few moments, he kicked off his boots, reclining back on the bed beside her.

"I'm not sick," she said finally, hesitantly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not _sick_," she repeated. "Before…when you were teaching Ellie to fly, and I was nauseous all the time…I thought I was just airsick. I thought it would go away." She shrugged, a tiny, nervous movement. He settled a hand on her shoulder, urging her silently to continue.

"But it didn't. And then Mariette said something, and none of my pants were fitting, and then…and then I knew I wasn't sick." She ducked her head a little, and his heart wrenched when he thought he heard a muffled sob.

"I see." He ran a comforting hand down the graceful slope of her back. "How long have you known that you…weren't sick?"

Another shrug. "A week or so. Earlier, I only _thought _I might…might not be sick. But I didn't know for sure." A short hesitation. "Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

"Because I didn't tell you. Because…because you'd probably rather I just be sick."

He slipped an arm beneath her, pulling her into the cradle of his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Darling, if you felt you couldn't tell me, then I have no one to blame but myself. I know I have treated you unfairly in the past. I cannot hold you accountable for my own mistakes. I merely regret making you feel as though you could not share this with me."

To his surprise, she turned towards him, her fingernails latching onto his shirtfront, burying her face in his throat. He felt the telltale wetness seeping through his collar, and one hand came up to hold her against him. The other slipped down her body to the small of her back, drawing her into the curve of his body. She released a shuddering breath as the slight swell of her belly pressed against him.

"Don't. I'm…I'm…"

"Lovely. Intensely desirable. But right now, in need of comfort." He shifted so that he, too, was beneath the covers and she was wrapped completely in his embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

"I was going to say fat."

He made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. "_Pregnant _is hardly a synonym for _fat_."

She stilled, a little shocked to hear it spoken aloud between them. "I just…I didn't expect…I didn't _think_. I didn't even think about it, which is stupid, after Ellie. I _should _have. I should have…"

His fingers slipped into her unbound hair, rubbing soothing circles at the base of her neck. "Don't, darling. A child is hardly the end of the world." He was a little surprised to find that he actually _meant _the comment. Though he had no experience with infants, he found himself wondering what it would be like to watch Penelo grow big with his child, to be present at its birth, to cradle his newborn child in his arms. He had missed that with Ellie. And, unless he was very, very lucky, there was a very real possibility that he might miss it again.

She made a little sniffling sound, her blonde head all but buried in his throat.

"I'm really scared," she whispered. "The first time, I didn't really know what to expect, but now I do, and I remember how terrified I was and how much it _hurt_ and I'm just not sure how I'll get through it again."

He laced their fingers together, bringing her cold hand to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss over her knuckles. "Let me help you. Let me be there with you."

Her eyes widened briefly as she realized what he was saying. She shoved away from him, jerking upright. Her fingers slipped from his, and she pulled her hands through her tousled hair, tossing it over one shoulder. "No. Balthier, you made me a promise. You gave Larsa your _word _that you'd let us go. Just…no. Don't press for more. Don't _take _any more from me than you already have."

He suppressed a flinch at her hard tone, wounded more than he could express. He forced himself to recall that she, too, was wounded in her own way. That her injuries had hardened her against him, that he alone was responsible for her cool attitude. He had reaped only that which he had sown, and though her harsh words wounded, he knew that she needed him more than she cared to admit.

He caught her arm when she made to stand, gently tugging her back down.

"Then let me be here now." His hand slid caressingly up the rigid line of her spine. "I'll say nothing of the future. I'll ask for no promises." His fingers touched her throat, and she unconsciously turned her face into his palm. "Give me what I missed with Ellie. I'll ask for no more. Give me just this."

He sensed her hesitation, her reluctance to allow him back into her life in any capacity. She wavered uncertainly, caught between her desire for the comfort he could provide and her desire to avoid the pain that he could cause her.

"Please." He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "Even should you do nothing but use me for whatever reassurance I can provide, I shall be satisfied."

He held his breath awaiting her answer. If she refused, he didn't know what he would do. He had nothing else to offer her, nothing she desired.

"Give me time to think it over," she said. "A day."

He had just over a month left, and then they would be gone from his life forever. He didn't want to waste any of it. But he acknowledged her request with a nod. "Tomorrow, then," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "If you should have need of anything…"

"I'm not an invalid. I'm capable of taking care of myself," she retorted, a little too sharply.

He hid a smile at her spark of temper. He'd set her emotions off-kilter, which meant he still affected her to some degree. Better her anger than her indifference.

"I meant no offense. It was simply an offer I would make to anyone who has recently been under the weather." He collected his boots, pulling them on.

She rubbed her forehead, sighing. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No need to apologize, darling. I'm well aware that many pregnant women experience mood swings," he said casually.

She gasped, affronted. "Out! Now!"

"As you wish." He bent to kiss her forehead, smiling. "Do call if you require my assistance."

---

Her morning sickness flared up in the early hours just before dawn. She rocketed out of bed, slamming her knee on the corner of the dresser on her mad dash for the bathroom.

"Ouch!" She winced, hobbling into the bathroom and dropping her knees, bringing tears to her eyes as she hit her injured knee a little too hard, just in time to be violently ill. She gripped the sides of the toilet as her stomach emptied itself, vaguely aware of Balthier's sudden appearance. He held her hair back from her face, murmuring soothing words as one hand rubbed her back and massaged her shoulders. His thumb dug into the knotted muscle between her shoulder blades, and she nearly sighed in relief as the gentle pressure released the tension.

When she'd finished the last of her retching, he helped her gently to her feet, guiding her to the sink to rinse out her mouth. She brushed her teeth with shaking fingers, and had no sooner replaced her toothbrush than he swept her into his arms and returned her to her bed.

Light flared in the room, and he fished her leg out from under the covers, examining the wounded appendage briefly, before returning to the bathroom for a bandage and some antiseptic ointment. He cleansed the small area of broken skin, carefully positioned the bandage, and smoothed the covers back over her.

"There, now. Try to go back to sleep, it's still quite early." He smoothed her hair away from her face and back over her pillow, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

He would have left; she knew he would. He had heard her, helped her, and would have left her in peace because she had no further need of him. But it had been nice to be taken care of, to be fussed over as if she were precious to him. To not have to suffer the early stages of pregnancy alone – _that _sounded wonderful to her in that moment.

"Don't leave. Please."

He stopped. Twisted around, stared at her as if bewildered.

And she didn't feel ashamed of accepting his offer, she realized. She wasn't nervous or confused or shy about it. He had offered himself, his assistance. She would accept it with a clear conscience.

"I've decided I'd like you to stay. As long as I'm here, I don't want to be alone." She shifted to the side, making room for him on the bed.

"I can sleep in my own room if you would prefer it. I need not share yours." He forced the words out as if they hurt to say.

She shook her head. "No, I want you here."

"If I sleep in your bed, I'm going to make love to you."

"But how can you even _want_…I'm _pregnant_. I'm just going to get fatter and fatter." She didn't understand. Didn't he have any idea of how unattractive she was getting? And it was only going to get worse. He'd just watched her _vomit_, after all!

"You're beautiful. You're always beautiful to me." He dropped to his knees beside the bed, slipping his arm beneath the pillow to draw her closer to him. "I'll do nothing you don't desire, but you cannot expect me to sleep in your bed and _not _touch you. Not even a dead man possesses that kind of restraint, darling."

"I'll probably throw up on you if you try anything," she muttered. "My stomach's still sort of touchy."

He laughed, a strained, husky sound. "That, my dear, is a chance I am willing to take. Are you still inviting me in?"

In answer, she moved over again, providing enough space for him on the mattress. He slipped beneath the covers, and the mattress dipped with his added weight. She rolled a couple of inches toward him, right into the waiting circle of his arms. She settled there easily, his body warm and hard against her back, his arms closing around her. One of his hands rested on the slight curve of her stomach, where their child was cradled inside her. He stilled, reverently silent for a moment as he felt, for the first time, the proof of life within her.

Then he tucked her more firmly against him, his legs tangling with hers. She hadn't realized how much she had missed being held until this moment, with his warm breath fanning her cheek and the strength of his body at her back.

"Go to sleep," he murmured. His fingers absently stroked the mound of her belly. The reassuring weight of his arm over her waist soothed her. And the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.


	26. Chapter 26

While Balthier hadn't been present when Penelo had been pregnant with Ellie, he could honestly say that currently, pregnancy did _not _seem to agree with her. He'd been told that pregnant women _glowed_, and while Penelo did – technically – glow, it was more often than not green with sickness than anything else. Never one to do things by halves, it seemed that in addition to morning sickness, she'd acquired afternoon sickness, evening sickness, night sickness, and the-ship-might-have-listed-just-the-tiniest-bit-sideways sickness. And though he ever tried to be helpful, mostly she just waved his efforts away, croaking, "It'll pass."

He hadn't much experience in making love to pregnant women, but the way she frequently interrupted their amorous undertakings to make a hasty trip to the washroom was a bit…disheartening. The only positive side that he could see was, while she seemed to cast up more than she ate, somehow she was still putting on the necessary weight, and, aside from the constant sickness, seemed to be in the bloom of health.

Just now she was sighing in frustration, laying flat on her back in bed (the only position she currently found comfortable), with a wet cloth on her forehead. She made a little frustrated sound.

"Can I take this off, now?"

"Are you feeling better?"

"I wasn't feeling poorly to begin with," she all but snapped at him. Another drawback – her rather quick temper these days. Mariette assured him it was hormones, and it would get worse before it got better – he rather hoped not, because if it got worse, he'd be lucky to escape with his head still firmly attached to his neck.

"Penelo," he said patiently, "you swooned, and when you regained consciousness, you were quite violently ill." _All over his favorite boots.  
_  
"I'm not _ill_," she insisted. "I'm _pregnant_. _You _try harboring a small person inside your body for nine months and tell me how _you _feel."

"I'm not certain I would enjoy that at all."

"_I _would," she snipped peevishly. "And furthermore, I did _not _swoon."

"Are you trying to tell me you just decided to take a sudden nap in the salad?" He asked innocently.

She made an unintelligible noise of frustration, whipped off the cold cloth, and chucked it at his face. It hit its mark, cold and wet and entirely unpleasant, but all he could do was peel it off his face, toss it to the floor, and laugh.

She scowled, propping herself up on her elbows. "_What _is so funny?"

He smothered his amusement, reached over to tweak her nose - which earned him another glare - and leaned in to kiss her forehead, which was still cool and damp from the cloth.  
"Do you know, you really are quite lovely when you're in a snit." He dropped elegantly (and he seemed to do _everything _elegantly, much to her chagrin) down beside her on the bed, slipping an arm beneath her.

"I'm _not _in a snit," she huffed, offended.

"Darling, you have been in a snit for three solid days. In speaking with my sister, I am given to understand that it is likely due to your _delicate condition_," he said somewhat condescendingly, vastly enjoying provoking her further.

Entirely out of suitably waspish responses, Penelo simply kicked him off the bed. But, as evidenced by the laughter coming from somewhere near the floor, even that could not separate him from his perpetual good humor.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, righting himself. "It's just that you are such _fun, _darling." He reclaimed his earlier position. "Do you know how long it's been since I last took so much pleasure in something?"

At her meaningful glance, he amended, "Well, something not entirely larcenous, that is."

"I'm _so _thrilled that you derive so much enjoyment from tormenting me," she muttered.

"Oh, come, now, Penelo," he chided. "You give as good as you get, and you well know it." He kicked off his boots, slipping beneath the covers beside her, his palm unerringly finding its way to the slight swell of her stomach. He seemed to enjoy touching her, feeling the evidence that she carried his child. And it always made her uncomfortable, because while a part of her was satisfied with the tenuous truce they currently shared, another part of her knew – _knew _– that she couldn't trust it.

Over the course of the last months, she'd become someone she no longer recognized. Before Balthier had reentered her life, she'd known exactly who she was – Penelo, mother of Ellie, owner of her own restaurant, mistress of her own fate. Then he'd turned her world upside down, stolen her comfortable life away from her, taken away her stability and peace. Since his return, she felt she was constantly second-guessing herself, always teetering on the edge of some dark void. A single misstep would send her plummeting into it, and yet she was not the one controlling her movements. No, her life had been wrenched firmly from her control. She was like a puppet, with an unseen master controlling her strings. She, who had been responsible for herself since the deaths of her family, could not fathom relinquishing control to someone else. She had never been helpless, but now it seemed that was all she was.

"Ellie," he murmured silkily in her ear, "is quite asleep. We could…"

"No!" Her voice was harsh, even to her own ears. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm…I'm just tired. I'd like to go to sleep early, if it's all the same to you."

Her sudden withdrawal had confused him, but he obligingly removed himself from the bed they shared.

"Of course," he said.

She smiled, but it was vacant. Her eyes were shadowed, hollow. Though she had intended to show that he had naught to be concerned with, she had accomplished exactly the opposite.

"I shall be on the bridge, if –"

"If I need anything. I know." She yawned, turning on to her side, away from him. "Thank you, Balthier."

He slipped from the room, doubly concerned. Doubtless something had changed in those few moments, but he was damned if he knew what. Snagging a bottle of brandy and a snifter from the kitchen, he adjourned to the bridge, sinking heavily into a chair. He poured himself a healthy glass, downing a good portion of it.

Two weeks. Fourteen days left to convince her to stay with him, and he was no closer than he'd been at the beginning. It was unthinkable. Oh, he knew that lately he'd been doing all the right things and saying all the right things, but somewhere along the way he'd pushed Penelo past the point that she could handle, and she'd shut him out. And he didn't want to confront the very possible likelihood that he'd lose her.

Years ago, he'd been the beginning and end of her whole world, and yet she'd grown up, gone off hero-worship, and seen him for what he truly was. A lonely, flawed, broken man, and yet…she'd loved him anyway. She hadn't needed a reason, she'd simply accepted the part of him that was less than perfect, and he…he'd thrown her away like so much garbage. He'd been unable to accept _her_, unable to love, to give freely of himself. He'd wanted nothing so much as to corrupt that enchanting innocence that had surrounded her like a mantle. And he had. He had taken her, used her, and taught her that it was foolish to trust. He had taught her the air of cynicism she now wore, taught her that she could not depend upon him. He had broken her heart, and in the process broken his own. He had changed her, and he did not know how to find the woman she'd been. Because of his own untrusting nature, he had no idea how to teach her to trust in him.

And that, he knew, would be his undoing. For if she would not trust him, he feared he was lost.

--

Penelo felt the bed depress as Balthier climbed in slowly, so as not to wake her. He was always so considerate of her, it made her feel cruel when she remembered how she'd rebuffed him earlier in the evening. She blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes, wondering why she couldn't just give in. But something inside her had broken, lodging painful shards in her heart. He had already wounded her in so many ways, she just didn't think she had it in her to bear any more risk. She was just…so tired, of everything. She let out the breath she'd been holding slowly, hoping it mimicked the rhythmic, easy breathing of sleep. He turned onto his side, slipping an arm over her waist, his palm coming to rest on her belly. It seemed such a natural position; her head fit beneath his chin just so, his larger frame curled around hers protectively, almost possessively. His chest at her back was like a furnace, sweeping away the chill of the room, bathing her in soothing warmth.

He shifted; his lips bussed her temple. "Go to sleep, darling," he murmured, his voice warm and drowsy. "You're far too tense. No need to feign sleep."

She mentally berated herself. Of course he knew; he always knew. It was like she was an open book to him. She wait for him to say something more, but instead, she gradually felt his body relax. His breathing evened. The fingers that had been stroking her stomach stilled. He was asleep.

If only sleep would come so easily for her.

--

Penelo spent much of her time with Ellie, avoiding Balthier's company whenever possible. But it seemed that lengths such as she went to were unnecessary, for he made himself inordinately scarce. It seemed he was forever cooped up in the spare bedroom – which he had converted into his study, since she now occupied his. Some days he ensconced himself directly upon rising, emerging only to eat before returning once again to…whatever it was he was doing. Though it grated that he did not share it with her, she refused to question him about it. She reminded herself that soon she and Ellie would be leaving, and his private life was therefore none of her concern.

In truth, Balthier did little but think and write. He had come to accept that he could not stop Penelo from leaving him – not without permanently violating her trust, and thereby ruining any chance that she might one day return to him. If she chose to stay, it would be of her own free will, and he knew he would not influence her thoughts on the matter one way or another. She would do – and always had done – what she felt was right, what was good for her, and good for Ellie.

And so he did the only thing he could do, under the circumstances, which was not altogether different from what she would do – what was _right_. Considering all that he had put her through over the years, and considering his promise to Larsa and to Penelo, it was the least he could do, and the most they would allow.

--

Penelo had never felt more awkward than she did when she awoke the morning their arrangement was to come to an end. Not when she'd realized she'd become pregnant and had to explain to Vaan, Ashe, Larsa, and Basch how she'd gotten into that condition. Not even when she had been newly orphaned and had had to ask Migelo (whose shop her family had always patronized) for a job so that she could find a way to survive on her own.

But they'd been tiptoeing around the subject for two weeks now, and she wasn't exactly certain how the arrangement was to work out. Would he simply drop them off in Rabanastre? Would he leave them at the nearest outpost, to make their own way back home? Would he renege on his promise completely?

Her stomach twisted into knots that had more to do with nervousness and less to do with the symptoms of early pregnancy, she emerged from her bedroom. From the hallway, she could see him on the bridge, hunched over the control panel. He did not turn as she approached.

"Have you packed your things?" He spoke without turning, something in his voice not quite as impassive as she believed he would have liked.

"I...yes. I finished packing this morning." She linked her fingers before her.

He nodded absently, still working at the control panel. "I've charted a course. We will be under way in a few minutes."

"Oh." She twisted her fingers. "All right." She hesitated. "Some of the things…well, they're things you purchased, and I didn't know –"

"Take them. They're of no use to me."

Stung by his brusque tone, she moved to leave.

"Penelo."

She halted abruptly, turning. For the first time he was looking at her, his hands resting on his thighs. His mouth was a grim line, none of the arrogance that she had always associated with him evident in his handsome face.

"I find myself in a bit of a foul mood this morning. I didn't intend to snap at you. Forgive me."

It was a rare occasion that Balthier issued a sincere apology; she suspected that too often he saw himself as in the right and that he rarely found himself in situations in which an apology might be in order.

"There's nothing to forgive," she said.

He considered that for a moment, then his gaze drifted back to her. "If I asked you to stay, would you?"

She drew in a shaky breath. "No. I'm sorry, Balthier –"

"As I thought." A strange, self-deprecating smile touched his mouth, and he swung around so that she could no longer see his face. "I am unaccustomed to being the loser, you see. Though I suspect I might grow used to it in time, for I believe there is little I would not do to see you happy. Even if it means letting you go."

Tears stung her eyes. For a moment, she wavered – she did love him desperately. But he had taught her not to trust in it, in him. She had learned a hard lesson, but she _had _learned it.

"I…I've got to make sure Ellie is packed." She hurried from the room, ashamed of the choked sound of her voice, ashamed that, for a moment, she had quite nearly weakened in her resolve.

Four hours later, Balthier made an appearance at her room, where Penelo had secluded herself away pending their arrival.

"We've arrived," he said simply. "I've made arrangements for your things to be transported."

"Thank you," she said. "Although I'm not sure where we'll be staying, yet. I'll find an inn –"

"No need," he interrupted, handing her a stack of papers.

She unfolded the top sheet, staring at it uncomprehendingly. "But…this is the deed to Rosewood."

"I won't be needing it. I've already hired servants for the house, and it seems a shame to let it lie unoccupied. It would be a chore to find new positions for the employees I've already hired, so it would please me if you would accept ownership of the house." He hesitated. "There are several good schools nearby which it would be beneficial for Ellie to attend. And her cat is already in residence, if you'll recall."

"I can't afford the upkeep on this place, much less the wages so many employees must earn," Penelo protested.

"It's already taken care of. I've instructed my solicitor to handle the details. All financial matters concerning Rosewood will be handled through him. You need never see me." He indicated the documents. "It's all in there; he will be in contact with you to sort out the particulars."

"But…"

"It is a gift, Penelo. Some small thing I can do for you, for Ellie, without breaching my promise. Accept it with good grace."

She swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. "Thank you. It's a beautiful place."

He nodded. "I would like to say goodbye to Ellie, if you have no objections."

She shook her head. "She's in her room, making sure everything is in order. I'll, uh, just go gather my things."

They went their separate ways, and a few minutes later, Balthier emerged from Ellie's bedroom, holding their daughter's hand. She clutched it almost desperately, as if afraid that Balthier would disappear if she let go.

"Aren't you coming with us, Papa?" she asked, teary-eyed.

"I'm afraid not, pet." He knelt down, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

"Why not? I'll miss you. I want you to stay with me and Mama." She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her gown.

"I made a promise. A very important one. It is one I must keep at all costs, or I would not be an honorable man." He wrapped her in his arms, and she buried her head in his shoulder, clinging to him.

"I don't want you to go away," she wailed, her voice breaking.

"Even if I'm not with you, I'll be thinking of you, sweet. Do you know, no matter where you are in Ivalice, at night you always see the same moon. So every night, I'll look up at the moon, and I'll be thinking of you. And I'll know that somewhere, you're doing the same. So we'll never be very far apart, poppet. You see?" He touched his forehead to Ellie's cradling her against him.

She hiccoughed as he scrubbed the tears from her face.

"Can I ask you for a favor, Ellie?"

She nodded, mouth trembling.

"I know you're sad, but I need you to be strong for your mama. And soon, you will have a new brother or sister to love. But your mama will need your help. Can you do that for me, as I won't be there to help her? Will you be strong in my place?"

"I will," she said solemnly.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you, poppet."

She clung to him one last time. "I love you, Papa."

Ellie moved beside Penelo. "I'm ready to go, Mama," she said. Her eyes were bright with tears, but they did not fall. Penelo took a step towards the door and their waiting luggage, but Balthier stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Without warning, he dragged her into his arms, holding her so tightly she struggled to draw air. His lips brushed her cheek, warm, soft, comforting.

"I love you," he whispered raggedly at her ear. "Be safe. Be happy."

Abruptly he stepped away, retreating at once to the interior of the ship as if he did not trust himself to remain.

As Penelo and Ellie walked down the ramp, she was unsurprised to find that Ellie was not the only one having to hold back tears.

--

Days blended into weeks; weeks into months. As Balthier had promised, his solicitor had been in touch with her several times regarding the house which, she had found, had been completely furnished since the last time they'd been in it. The library had been filled with books, the kitchen fully stocked, the gardens renovated and impeccably maintained. She was to have a generous allowance with instructions that any new furniture or ornamentations would be billed directly to Balthier.

She could not fathom the work that went into the organization of the house, and the solicitor had remarked that it had taken several weeks for them to get it in order and ready to be inhabited. So at last, Penelo had discovered what had kept Balthier confined to his study those last weeks. It seemed he had known even then that she would leave him, and had prepared for the inevitable. Somehow, it made her sad to know that he had given up hope all those weeks ago.

Mariette often visited, bringing her children with her, and Ellie got along splendidly with her cousins. Mariette had, indeed, been a great comfort to Penelo in the weeks that had passed. Instead of berating her (as had been expected) over leaving Balthier, Mariette had been amazingly understanding. Penelo didn't doubt that Mariette still had hopes that she and Balthier would eventually reconcile, but, as they didn't discuss it, it hadn't been an issue.

Though she lived a life of leisure, with Ellie now enrolled in an exclusive academy that she suspected Larsa had had something to do with, Penelo found herself lonely and bored. Mariette could only keep her company so long, having her own family to care for. She began to toy with the idea of opening a new restaurant, if only to have something with which to occupy her time.

Archades was still a relatively new city to her. She had spent the majority of her time in the palace with Larsa the last time she had lived there, and their culture was so different that that of Rabanastre. With no one to guide her, she felt adrift. And, too, there was a lingering sense of unease that she just couldn't seem to rid herself of.

With only two months left until she was due to deliver, she started preparing for the arrival of her child. While she could have had the servants do it, she preferred the activity of doing it herself. She was wondering to herself what their child would be like – would it be a boy or a girl? Would it resemble her or Balthier? – when she recalled the letter that she still hadn't opened. It had been in the stack of papers he'd handed her that last day, but she hadn't wanted to read it with the wounds still so fresh in her mind – and in her heart. She'd tucked it away and forgotten about it. She still didn't know if it was wise to read it, but she no longer cared. It had been so long since she'd seen him. It would be a comfort just to read his words.

She retrieved it from her trunk, and broke the seal with trembling fingers. A little scrap of fabric fluttered out to the floor. She bent to retrieve it; then continued on to the letter.

_Dearest Penelo,_

_I have known for some time now that you will leave. And while letting you go will be the hardest thing I have ever had to do, I know that it is for the best. I did not appreciate you when I had you, and, though I wish I did not have to lose you, I know that I do not deserve you. It is my sincere hope that you will find happiness, and my deepest regret that I could not be the one to give it to you. I know better than to hold hope that you will ever wish to see me again, and so I shall not trouble you. You will always have my heart, though it pains me to know that I could not hold on to yours. _

_Sincerely,_

_Balthier_

A sob wrenched its way from her throat. She unfolded her hand, revealing the small scrap of fabric. It was a piece cut from his handkerchief – the one she'd stolen from him so many years ago. Into it was stitched a small heart. She traced the stitches reverently – they were clumsy and uneven, as though the person making them would have been more comfortable wielding a weapon rather than a needle and thread.

She could not imagine what had possessed him to do such a thing, when he'd already known she was leaving. He couldn't have been hoping to sway her; he'd not given it to her until she'd been about to walk away from him. He had…he had simply wanted her to know that he was sincere. She closed her eyes, but the tears seeped through anyway. He could have entreated her to stay any number of ways, professed his love with a thousand different pretty speeches…but none could have meant so much to her as that one tiny, poorly stitched heart.

Still clutching the heart in her hand, she went in search of a pen and paper. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many different questions rattling around in her head, but when she finally put her pen to paper, it was to pen only a few words.

_Balthier,_

_Please come._

_Penelo  
_


	27. Chapter 27

Although Balthier had long since returned to the skies, he had no intention of returning to a life of piracy. For some reason, the adventure no longer held any appeal to him. He supposed it was due to the horrifying thought of getting caught, and knowing that eventually word would get back to Penelo and Ellie that he was languishing away in a dank prison cell somewhere. And he knew that Penelo's days of bailing him out of prison were long over.

Besides that, his heart just wasn't in the work any longer – and that was bound to make him sloppy.

Instead, he filled his days bounty-hunting. For once, he found it intensely rewarding to be on the right side of the law – and the knowledge that he was for once doing Ivalice a service was an interesting change. He liked to imagine that sometime in the future, Ellie would hear about him – and that she might actually be proud of him.

It had been months since he'd last seen her, of course, although Mariette continued to keep in touch, informing him of Penelo's health and Ellie's achievements.

Soon their child would be born – a child he would never see. He forced the thought from his mind, refusing to think of such things while he was tracking his current quarry. Though he was an excellent marksman, it wouldn't do to grow careless.

He was tracking the Grave Lord through Golmore Jungle, and as yet, the beast had not sensed his presence. Already he was wearying, but he'd come to this place with a purpose, and meant to see it through.

He ducked behind a tree as it suddenly turned its head, scenting the air as though it could smell him – and indeed, it likely could; he felt rank with sweat, and the inhabitants to Golmore Jungle seemed to have an extremely well-developed sense of smell.

Balthier went on the offensive, firing his blunderbuss, the loud crack of the shot spooking several of the smaller inhabitants of the jungle from their dens, briefly stunning the Grave Lord. It quickly recovered, roaring with rage, swinging its scythe in a deadly arc that only just missed Balthier. He felt the wind sweep past, dodged to the side, and took aim again.

Another loud crack, another flurry of activity as birds flew from their perches, and the Grave Lord hissed in pain. Two more rapid shots brought it to its knees, and Balthier, breathing heavily from the chase, went in for the kill.

Just as he fired his last shot, the scythe shot out one last time, swiping Balthier across the midsection. The Grave Lord's bony fingers unclenched on the weapon, and it clattered uselessly to the jungle floor.

Pain, absent for a few seconds from so clean a slice, flared to life. Blood soaked his shirt and spilled out onto the dirt. He watched, amazed, as his life's blood ebbed from his body, pain bringing him to his knees there beside the fallen corpse of the monster he'd vanquished.

At least, he thought, he'd not have to grow old in a world without Penelo, without Ellie. He hoped, at some point in the future, they'd remember him fondly. God knew nobody else would.

* * *

Penelo, for her part, was terribly distressed. She'd given her letter to Balthier's solicitor almost a month ago, and the man had assured her he would give it immediately to Balthier – but Balthier had fallen out of contact. Not even Mariette could seem to reach him, and she _knew_ that they had remained in contact.

Mariette did her best to reassure Penelo that Balthier would get her message and come, but Penelo was growing more and more certain that Balthier had grown tired of waiting, tired of hoping…tired of _her_.

She knew of no other way to contact him, and after being rebuffed so frequently, Penelo couldn't blame him if he'd decided he didn't want to come back at all. She alternated between being furious and being inconsolable. Mariette assured her it was simply her hormones going crazy, but Penelo felt like the wait alone was driving her so. She resolved to detach herself – if he came, he cared. If he didn't – well, then, she would be no worse off than she'd been before.

And _that _thought set her right off into another bout of hopeless sobbing – because she _would _be worse off. She loved him, she'd _always _loved him, she _would _always love him. If only she could have had this revelation months ago, and saved them both the heartache!  
But the days ticked by, and Penelo grew more and more anxious.

* * *

"I think he's waking up! Quick, fetch the Queen!"

Balthier stirred, trying to rouse his clouded mind into some semblance of wakefulness. He blinked, temporarily blinded by the brightness of the room. His muscles were stiff and sore, as if he hadn't moved them in some time. Some distant memory began to force its way to the forefront – a battle, a sudden, sharp pain, and then – nothing.

He shifted in bed, struggling to sit up. His abdomen hurt. Lifting away the sheet, he inspected his stomach – an angry scar slashed across it; red and bright, but seemingly fully healed. No stitches marred the wound.

"You've awoken." The husky, accented voice drew his attention. Fran stood a few feet away, face as impassive as always. And yet, something in her expression was just a little different.

"Fran, what…? How did I get here?" Balthier asked.

"I heard the Green Word." Her voice conveyed a measure of wonder. "The Wood spoke to me. The first time in years…" She shook her head, as if to clear it. "It told me you were wounded. I found you, and my sisters and I brought you to Ashe."

"How long has it been?"

"Two weeks since you were brought in. Your fever would not abate. They began to despair of you ever waking," Fran said.

"But not you?"

"No," she said. "The Wood claimed you for one of its own. Perhaps for ridding it of one of the fiends inhabiting it. I know not why, but even my sisters agreed. The Wood helped heal you, even at this great distance. Even now I can feel its essence filling the room. Perhaps it is not as discriminating as once it was."

She brushed back a few tendrils of hair from her face, breathing in, as if even in the confines of the sickroom, she could smell the Wood that she so loved.

"Will you go back to the Wood?" He asked.

"In time, perhaps. For now, to feel it again, to hear it again…that is enough for me. The Viera will welcome me back when the time comes, or so Jote has given to me to understand. She left the village to save you, as the Wood asked, and still she is allowed back." Her nose twitched. "Ashelia comes."

Seconds later, Balthier heard the steady click of heels on the marble floors, and Ashe appeared in the doorway.

"So, Balthier, have you recovered from your latest scrape?" She queried.

"As much as can be expected. I don't suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water? I find myself a bit parched." He scanned the room. "And some clothing wouldn't go amiss. I seem to be in a disgraceful state of undress."

"You've troubled us all quite enough for the time being, thank you. But I'll send someone to fetch you some water. Don't bother trying to leave; you're still recovering." She nodded to one of the sentries who had accompanied her, who hurried to do her bidding.

"I can recover just as well aboard the _Strahl_," he said irritably. "I've bounties to claim and some…business to catch up on."

"Don't argue with your monarch; it's unbecoming. Any business you wish to conduct may be conducted from right here. I'll see to it you have whatever you require." Although Ashe never dropped her imperious expression, something in her tone lead Balthier to believe that the Queen might have missed the banter she and her erstwhile companions had enjoyed when they had been traveling together so long ago.

"With all due respect, I must humbly decline." The mocking tilt of his mouth bespoke anything but humility. "And, having been raised in Archades, it would hardly be patriotic of me to acknowledge you as my monarch."

Ashe's lips twitched, but she struggled to contain her amusement. "Oh? You feel some affection for your Lord Larsa, then? If you would prefer, I can certainly contact him and give you over into his care. I am sure he would more than happy to provide you some sort of…accommodation."

Balthier held up a hand. "I yield. By all means, I shall accept your gracious hospitality."

"How wonderful that we could reach an amicable agreement," Ashe replied. "But you'll forgive me if I leave a sentry at your door. To protect you from yourself, you understand."

Affecting a look of wide-eyed innocence that didn't suit him in the least, Balthier said, "Why, your majesty…are you insinuating that I would compromise my health and recovery by attempting an escape under my present circumstances?"

Ashe folded her arms. "Let us just say that I have found it wise never to underestimate you. _Do _take care of yourself, Balthier. Fran, please keep an eye on him." She turned, and her guards followed her out the door, which shut promptly behind her.

Balthier threw back the covers, pleased to find that he'd at least been allowed to keep a simple pair of loose-fitting pants. He stretched, testing his legs, which were a little cramped from lack of use, but otherwise fully-functioning.

"How many at the door, Fran?"

She scented the air. "Just one. Heavily armored. In your present condition, without armor or weapons, you are doomed to failure."

"Bah. Taking the door would be too easy. I like a bit of risk." He strode to the open window, peering down. "It looks maybe…twenty feet down, would you say? Toss me that sheet, if you don't mind."

She did as he bid. "Tear it slowly, or you will alert the guard. The door is not thick enough to mask the sound."

"What would I ever do without you?" Balthier grinned, slowly splitting the sheet into four sections, tying the ends together to form a rope. He anchored the sheet to the solid bed frame, testing it for strength, pleased to find it held admirably. If the Queen were just a bit thriftier with her linens, she would have found him well and truly trapped.

"Well, off we go, Fran! Let's have at least one last adventure between us, hmm? _Someone's _got to shake Ashe up a bit."

They shimmied down the rope, making it to the bottom just in time to hear Ashe screech in a most undignified tone, "_Blast it all! They went out the window!"  
_

* * *

Perhaps it wasn't the most dignified escape Balthier had ever made, but he definitely did enjoy tweaking Ashe's nose a bit. She had the responsibility of a kingdom on her shoulders, and he suspected that did she not have those illustrious obligations, she might've made a rather impressive sky pirate. Still, for a woman who was still so young, she was altogether too serious, and he rather hoped someone would come along that would show her that one could run a kingdom and still find enjoyment in life.

His first stop was to a local banking establishment from which he withdrew enough gil to purchase a new shirt and vest, as well as enough to pay the docking fees on the _Strahl_, which Fran had informed him had been left at the Aerodrome. To his surprise, Fran declined to accompany him out of Rabanstre, preferring instead to remain within the city, more than likely to report back to Ashe that he'd made it safely away. While something in him rankled a bit that Fran had defected, he knew that their days of sailing the skies were forever over. Neither of them had the heart for piracy, and he suspected that Fran viewed him a more of a ward than a partner, considering their vastly differing life-spans. And ever since he had become involved with Penelo, he knew he'd felt a subtle shift in his relationship with Fran, as though she had been relinquishing him into the care of another. And now he almost wished she hadn't, for he would be alone once again.

A short time later, he entered the Aerodrome, passing over the gil that would pay the fees on the _Strahl_. Just as he was boarding, an attendant came rushing across the room, brandishing a folded scrap of parchment paper.

"Sir! Sir!" She cried. "Please, you can't leave without this!" She handed over the note, out of breath. "It came shortly after you arrived, but nobody knew where you'd been taken or when you'd be back."

He handed her a couple gil for her trouble, thanked her, and boarded the _Strahl_. He collapsed into the captain's chair, rubbing his stomach – his wound, while healed, still ached from the exertion of his recent escape. The seal broke easily under the pressure of his fingers, and he unfolded it.

_Balthier,_

_Please come._

_Penelo_

Perhaps he hadn't totally regained his faculties. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks with him. Hell, perhaps he'd actually died in that miserable jaunt through Golmore Jungle. But the only thing he could think was that the note could not _possibly _be from Penelo. After all, she had made it perfectly, heartbreakingly clear that she did not want to see him ever again.

And yet somehow he held in his hand a note, a summons, a reprieve – a bloody stay of execution, as far as he was concerned. Because he suddenly felt as if his heart, leaden in his chest for some months, had somehow miraculously recovered its beat. He did not care how or why – but she had asked him to return.

His mind still reeling, he tucked the note into his pocket, ignited the engines, and lifted the _Strahl_ into the skies, his previously sunken spirits soaring with it.

The flight to Archades was mercifully brief, and Balthier pressed the _Strahl _for every bit of speed he could wring from her. Though his wound ached, he would not have delayed the journey for a single second longer than was absolutely necessary, and the thought of how long Penelo's message had been lying, unread, at the Aerodrome filled him with a new kind of dread – had she wondered why he hadn't come? Had she reconsidered in that time? Exactly how _much _time had been lost between sending her missive and him receiving it?

He was annoyed, but not surprised, to find Larsa and an impressively large number of Archadian soldiers lying in wait for him as he docked at the Aerodrome in Archades. He begrudged them every second they took in keeping him from his goal.

"Balthier." Larsa acknowledged frostily. "I assume you have a good reason for returning here. I was under the impression that we had an agreement that you would keep well away."

Balthier held aloft the letter, doing his damnedest not to sneer at the haughty little lordling. "I was invited," he returned, just as frostily, "which renders whatever agreement we had null and void."

Larsa took the letter, scanning its contents. Though his face briefly registered his surprise, he composed himself quickly enough. "I will, of course, have to verify the validity of this before I allow you within the city."

"I think not." Balthier snatched the letter back, and at once several of the armed guardsmen took a step forward, hands on weapons. "You are welcome to accompany me, but I _will _be going to her, and should this letter be genuine – as we both know it is – I do not imagine that Penelo will be overly pleased with you should she discover I was waylaid upon arrival."

Larsa considered the proposition for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "Very well. Allow me to escort you to Rosewood…and we shall _both _see how Penelo fares."

Balthier shrugged. "Fair enough…and if it gets us there faster, all the better."

* * *

It was only about half an hour later that they arrived en masse at Rosewood, for Larsa seemingly could not travel without his retinue of guards, but the wait had been sheer torture to Balthier. As soon as they came to a stop, Balthier flung open the door of Larsa's carriage, alighting on the sprawling green lawns of the manor house. He moved perhaps faster than his wound wanted to permit, but as soon as the large brass knocker was in his hand, the pain faded into insignificance.

The wait was interminable, but finally – _finally _– the door was flung open, and Mariette, looking worn and frazzled, began screeching at him.

"Where the devil have you been, you miserable –" she punctuated her godawful racket with a sharp slap to his shoulder, "Good-for-nothing –" another slap, this one to his chest, "low-life _pirate!_" She drew back her dainty fist and lodged it right in his stomach. The unexpected blow knocked the wind from his lungs and sent pain radiating through his body. His knees buckled under the onslaught of it, and he staggered into the doorframe.

Larsa, who had been watching the exchange with some amusement, looked just as surprised as Mariette to see Balthier buckle under such a paltry blow.

"Balthier?" Mariette asked uncertainly. "Are you…"

"Fine," he ground out. "Took a scythe to the stomach two weeks ago. I woke just this morning, and received Penelo's message just after escaping from the Palace."

"Escaping?" She echoed incredulously. "Do you mean you were imprisoned?"

"I mean that I was taken to Rabanastre and given over to Ashe until I recovered. Slipped out the window, or I'd be there still." He took a shuddering breath, and recovered enough to push away from the doorframe and stand on his own two feet.

"Well, you've impeccable timing." She blew out a breath, swiping a hand across her forehead to smooth away a few tendrils of hair that had escaped the sensible knot that held the rest of her hair back from her face.

A scream rent the air, and Balthier tensed. "That sounded like –"

"Penelo." Mariette confirmed. "She went into labor late last eve. It's been uncommonly difficult. I swear I never had such trouble."

The blood drained from his face. He shot Larsa a terrified glance.

To his credit, Larsa sprang in to action. "Take us to her. Now!"

Mariette ushered them down a long hallway, and up a flight of stairs. Larsa turned his attention to a passing maid. "You! Summon the doctor!"

"My Lord, the midwife is with her…" the maid protested.

"Not _her _doctor, _my _doctor!" Larsa snapped. "Summon every physician you can contact! Tell them the Emperor commands their presence – we will _not _risk her life!"

"Thank you," Balthier breathed unsteadily. The stairs were long and winding, and already his stomach ached unmercifully. "Thank you for that."

"I didn't do it for you," Larsa growled. "I did it for her. I love her, too."

Mariette hitched up her skirts and raced ahead of them, flinging open a door down the hall.

From within, he could hear Penelo's voice, weak and thready. "He's not coming. He's not coming." A low, shuddering sob followed. "I can't do this!"

"Shhh, you're doing beautifully, darling," Mariette soothed. "Just hush a moment, and I promise, everything will be –"

"_Don't _say fine," Penelo gasped. "It's _not _fine, and it'll _never _be –" she broke off abruptly as she saw Balthier and Larsa enter the room. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her features distorted into a grimace of pain, and _still _she was so beautiful to him that it was like a physical ache.

"Balthier?" She whispered.

Mariette shoved a chair beside the bed, and Balthier sunk into it gratefully.

"I'm here," he said. "I came." He reached out, grasped her small, clammy hand firmly in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

A contraction tore through her, and a scream ripped itself from her throat. Her fingers clenched on his in a death grip that made him wince. He looked to Mariette who shrugged as if to say such a thing was perfectly normal in expectant mothers.

"I hate you," Penelo wheezed, gritting her teeth through the pain. "I hate you for leaving…I hate…I hate you for…taking so…long to…get back."

He decided not to remind her that she'd wanted him to leave in the first place, and settled with stroking her sweat-dampened hair with his free hand.

"I should have…married Larsa!" she fumed.

"That's always an option," Larsa interjected, earning himself a glare from Balthier.

Balthier returned his attention to Penelo, who released another ear-piercing shriek of pain. "If you want me to leave, I will," he said quietly. "I did not receive your letter until this morning, and I made all haste in getting here. But if you've reconsidered, I will leave at once."

"No!" Her fingers tightened into a vise around his, her muscles clenched as another contraction wracked her. "If you even try to leave…I swear I'll hunt you down!"

He bent and touched his forehead to hers, feeling her breath, heavy and hot against his throat. "I'll not leave," he whispered. "I'll be here for as long as you want me."

A keening wail wrenched itself from her throat. "It hurts!" Her eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. He brushed them away as best he could.

"My brave, darling girl," he murmured. "I'm afraid you're the only one who can do this. You must be strong."

"_I can't_!" The exclamation burst forth, high-pitched and terrified.

The midwife bustled into the room, whistling, carrying an armful of soft, clean blankets, which she set in a chair at the foot of the bed. She glared disapprovingly at the men in the room, but wisely kept her opinion of their presence otherwise to herself. She lifted the sheet covering Penelo's midsection and legs, gauging the labor's progress.

"My, you're progressing nicely, dear. I shouldn't imagine you've more than a few hours left to go." She readjusted the sheet, pouring a cup of tea which she passed to Balthier to give to Penelo.

"Hours?" Penelo whimpered, as Balthier tipped the cup to her lips. "I can't…I can't do this for hours. I just _can't_."

"These things move at their own pace, dear," the midwife said firmly. "This child will arrive when it is good and ready, and not before. In the meantime, the tea should relieve a bit of the pain. It's an old family recipe."

Sure enough, within ten or fifteen minutes, the pain of the contractions had abated to a more manageable level, giving Penelo a much-needed respite from the agony she'd been enduring for so many long hours.

"I want to see Ellie," she whispered. "She's probably terrified."

"Nonsense," Mariette said firmly. "She and I have had several long talks of late. She's quite a sensible child, really. Currently, she should be taking her afternoon nap in the East Wing, where she will not be disturbed or frightened by the noise. I'll be happy to check on her, if you like, but this is no place for a small child."

Penelo looked to Balthier, as if pleading for his aid, but he shook his head. "I think Mariette is correct," he said. "Bringing her here might be more than a child of her tender years is prepared for." He smoothed her hair gently away from her face. "We'll see her – together – when she has a new brother or sister to meet."

Penelo shuddered, dreading the task that lay ahead, and squeezed his hand through the pain of a contraction. She breathed rhythmically, concentrating on riding out the wave of pain.

"I'm scared," she said, once the contraction had passed. "I'm so scared. It wasn't this bad with Ellie. What if I don't –"

"Don't even think it," Balthier said. "_Nothing _is going to happen to you. Besides, Larsa has commandeered every available physician in the empire to attend you –"

"_What_?" She cried. "No! No, no, no, _no_. No more people here! I don't want one more person to set foot in this room!"

"Penelo," Larsa pleaded, "if you would just listen to reason for a moment. What could it hurt?"

"Do you think I _want _to be seen like this? I have a perfectly capable midwife, damn you, I _won't _be a curiosity or an obligation to the Crown," she seethed, panting through another contraction. "So help me, Larsa, if you let even a single doctor through those doors, I will push you out the nearest window!"

"She doesn't mean it," Mariette chuckled.

"I most certainly _do _mean it!" Penelo screeched. "Not one doctor, do you hear me? Not _one –_"

"Now, Penelo," Larsa tried again, a bit unprepared for her anger.

"Don't you 'Now, Penelo' me!"

Balthier watched the exchange with patent amusement. He sincerely hoped Larsa would finally see that he and Penelo were unsuited for marriage. Penelo, while normally quite even-tempered, had a wild streak in her that would have driven Larsa insane within weeks. She would've walked all over the placid princeling.

"Dear girl," he interjected amidst their bickering, and, surprisingly, she fell silent to wait for him to speak. "Count yourself fortunate to have so many people who care about you, will you? Of course Larsa called in a veritable brigade of physicians. Not that we doubt the capability of your midwife," he said, with a nod toward the woman who waited patiently in the wings while they squabbled amongst themselves. "But we will not risk your life. We will prepare for any eventuality, because you are so very dear to us." He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. "However, we will not summon anyone within unless and until your midwife gives her permission. Is that agreeable?"

The anger drained out of her, and she leaned back into the pillows piled beneath her shoulders, blowing out a heavy breath. "Okay," she said. "Thank you, Larsa."

Larsa, who was still reeling from the spat with Penelo, simply said, "You're welcome?" as though he were not entirely sure what he ought to have said, given the circumstances.

"I don't think any amount of doctors will be necessary at this point," the midwife said suddenly. "Unless I miss my guess – and I have been a midwife for too many years to have done – it's nearly time. Now, Penelo," she said firmly. "Be prepared to push."

"I'm not ready!" Penelo's voice went high and tinny, her knuckles turning white as she clenched his hand. God, but Balthier had never seen her moods fluctuate so wildly, or seen her so terrified – and he hoped never to see it again.

She emitted an ear-splitting shriek as a contraction began, and he coached her as best he could.

"Push! Penelo, you must push!"

"_Shut up_!" She cried. "Just _shut up_, already!"

"Penelo!" Mariette admonished.

"_Kindly _shut up," Penelo bit off through gritted teeth. "When _you've _given birth, _then _you can tell me when to push!"

Larsa, who'd already caught the lash of Penelo's temper, elected to escape while he was still able. "I'll just..er..be in the hall, if I'm needed."

The door shut behind him, and Penelo muttered, "Coward."

Balthier tried to stifle the urge to laugh, but a betraying snort snuck out anyway. Penelo fixed him with an icy glare.

"What are _you _laughing about? You're damn lucky I haven't shot off your nether regions! _You _got me into this mess! _Twice_! Do you have _any _idea how much this _hurts_?" As quickly as her ill-temper had come, it faded, and she dropped back against the pillows.

"Balthier?" She murmured weakly.

"Hmm?"

"I think I'm going to have to push now."

"That's probably a fine idea, love."

"Do you _really _love me?" The wistful question nearly broke his heart.

"Ah, darling, more than I can say."

Her lips were chapped and bitten nearly bloody, and even though his stomach ached unbearably, he bent and kissed her. Just a light, gentle brush, but it seemed to revitalize her a bit, and he slipped his arm beneath her back to brace her as she prepared for the worst of it.

"I never want to do this again." She said. "Two is _enough_."

"Two is plenty," he said, to placate her.

"Now, Penelo," the midwife instructed gravely.

Penelo bore down, her teeth clenched as her body struggled to expel its cargo.

"The baby is crowning; I think just once or twice more ought to do it!"

"Just…get it…out of me!" Penelo shrieked, bearing down as the next contraction passed through her. And then she collapsed back against the pillows with a sigh as a baby's shrill cry rent the air.

"There, you've done wonderfully," the midwife crooned as she toweled off the mewling infant, tied and cut the umbilical cord, and wrapped it in swaddling cloth. "And look, you have a beautiful son. Well done, dear."

She handed the tiny bundle to Balthier, who looked down at his infant son with a mix of wonder and horror.

"He's so…small." He said, handing the baby over to Penelo for her first look.

"He's just been born; of course he's small," Penelo chided as she peeled the blanket away, counting tiny fingers and toes, having forgotten all at once the pain of bearing her child and suddenly enthralled with the boy she held in her arms. "But he'll grow soon enough."

The baby opened his eyes, blinked blearily up at his parents, then screwed up his small mouth and wailed, startling them both.

Larsa peeked in the door. "Is it safe to enter? Shall I send the doctors away?"

"You can send them away," Penelo said, her attention still focused on her baby. "We're just fine." She looked up at Larsa. "Would you mind bringing Ellie in? She'll want to meet her new brother."

"A son." Larsa considered this for a second. "My congratulations. _Do _consider naming him after me," he added, just to irk Balthier, as he slipped back out the door.

"Absolutely out of the question," Balthier gritted out. "You named Ellie, I think I should get _some _say in the naming of this one." He reached out to touch his son's clenched fist, awed as the tiny fingers curled around his thumb. "He's brilliant, isn't he? He'll make a phenomenal sky pirate, I imagine."

"Don't you even _think_ –"

"A jest, Penelo, I swear it." He brushed a kiss across her cheek. "I think we should call him Matieu."

"Matieu?" She echoed. "After my brother?"

"Mmm. What do you think?"

"I think it's _perfect_." She glanced over at him slyly. "He'll need a middle name."

"A middle name?" He caught the look, and recoiled. "No. No, no, no, absolutely not!"

"Balthier…"

"I absolutely will not have it!"

"Oh, come on…" She cuddled the baby. "_I _think it would suit perfectly."

Balthier sighed and put a hand to his forehead for a moment. But finally, he surrendered.

"Oh, all right," he groused. "Matieu _Larsa_."


	28. Chapter 28

Despite having been back in residence at Rosewood, Balthier had seen rather little of Penelo, who was still recovering from childbirth. She seemed to spend a good deal of her time sleeping and healing, and the remainder of her waking hours were reserved for caring for their infant son.

Matieu had lost a bit of his pinkish, pinched-face appearance, and seemed to be settling well into his role of plump, pampered baby. He spent most of his time crying or wetting his nappies, and then crying _because _he'd wet his nappies. And when Penelo was asleep, Matieu was consigned to Balthier's care, primarily because he was too fascinated by the tiny infant to turn the care of him over to a nanny.

Ellie was less than enchanted by her new sibling, proclaiming him too noisy for her tastes. And, indeed, the lad had a strong set of lungs that he was not remotely shy about using at any and every opportunity. Rather than being jealous of the attention lavished upon her new sibling, Ellie simply acknowledged the infant with a brief shake of the head, as if she wasn't quite sure why her parents might've wanted to _keep _such a loathsome creature. Other than to remark upon his incredible aptitude for bellowing at the top of his small lungs, she deemed Matieu beneath her notice.

Vaan, Ashe, and Larsa had all been to visit the baby, and Balthier fancied that Ashe had been more enamored than the others of the infant who had squalled piteously the entire time she'd held him. As unlikely as it would seem, Ashe seemed to adore the child – likely she would have liked one of her own. He was sad for her – if anyone deserved a bit of happiness, it was Ashe. Vaan seemed to share Ellie's opinion that Matieu made a bit of a nuisance of himself. Larsa was entirely too pleased to be the namesake of Penelo's child – he was all too willing to forget that Matieu was Balthier's child as well.

Balthier felt an irrational surge of jealousy at seeing how comfortable Penelo and Larsa were with one another. Despite the fact that she'd summoned him back, they'd had no real resolution, no deep and heartfelt conversations. Perhaps it was due to the new addition to their family; perhaps it was due to his reticence to bring it up. He desperately feared that she had summoned him back only to allow him back into the lives of their children. He dreaded the thought that she might ask him to remove himself from Rosewood.

Her note had been cryptic at best – all he knew was that she had summoned him, and he had come. Now all he could do was wonder how long he would be permitted to stay.

Balthier slowly eased the door open, slipping silently into the room that housed Penelo and their son. No wails split the air, no gurgles, shrieks, or any other such noises, which meant that Matieu was likely asleep – and as long as Matieu was asleep, so too was Penelo likely to be. He had no idea how she'd managed with Ellie. Infants seemed to require much more attention than any one person could possibly give, and to think that somehow she'd managed it quite alone made him feel simultaneously awed and impressed.

As he'd thought, Matieu was sleeping soundly in his cradle, one tiny fist stuffed into his mouth. Penelo, too, was blessedly asleep, huddled beneath a mound of covers. He perched himself on the side of the bed, careful to distribute his weight evenly, lest he wake her.

She was clearly exhausted; the covers were tangled around her, her hair a tangled cloud around her face. As gently as he could, he disentangled the covers and brushed her hair back, then straightened the thin, worn nightgown she wore. As he was laying the covers back over her, she stirred, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Balthier?" she asked groggily, struggling to sit up. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing at all," he assured her, already regretting haven awoken her. "I simply came to…check on Matieu. And you."

"Matieu's fine," she said. "But _I_ feel like I haven't slept in months." She scooted back, resting against the mountain of pillows for support, and shoved back her tangled hair, wincing as her fingers caught and pulled. "I must desperately need a bath," she muttered.

Balthier smothered a snicker, managing to keep a straight face as he replied, "Far be it from me to ever insinuate a lady stinks."

She snatched a pillow up, lobbing it at his head. "I do _not _stink!"

"Oh, no, no, not at all," He responded as he fended off the down-filled missile. "But you do have a certain…aroma, shall we say?"

Another pillow followed his response, and she fell back against the bed with a disheartened sigh. "Oh, god, I _do _stink, don't I? I can't remember how long it's been since I've had a proper bath! The days have all sort of blurred together. Do you think you might draw a bath for me?"

"Darling girl, you are in no condition at all to be getting out of bed," he said. "It's been hardly a week, and you've had a harder time of it than most, or so I am given to understand."

"What nonsense," she replied, throwing back the covers. "Women have been going through childbirth since the beginning of time. And I've had it up to _here_ with being in bed. I am taking a bath right _now._"

"If you even _attempt_ to get out of that bed, Penelo, so help me, I'll –"

She swung her feet over the side and made to stand. Her muscles were weakened by the ordeal of childbirth and lack of use since, and she swayed unsteadily. All at once, Balthier was on his feet, catching her up in his arms before she fell.

He fixed her with a disapproving look. "I ought to turn you over my knee."

She heaved a sigh, frustrated by her own lack of energy. "I just wanted a bath." Her fingers caught in his shirt. "_Please_, Balthier."

He hesitated – he knew he ought to put her right back in bed where she belonged. She could just as easily wash with a pitcher of water and a bar of soap. But he made the mistake of looking into her eyes – and he was lost.

"_Fine_," he muttered irritably. "But you'll stay where I put you and not move a single inch unless I permit it, or it's right back in bed with you. Understood?"

"Thank you!" Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck.

"Don't thank me yet," he warned. "We've yet to see if you can actually behave yourself." He carried her into the bathroom and set her at the edge of the massive tub, with her back supported by the wall. He gave her a speaking look as he adjusted the taps, testing the temperature of the running water as the tub slowly began to fill.

She held up her hands. "I'm not moving an inch," she said.

"See that you don't," he responded, scooping up a handful of rose-scented bath salts and tossing them under the running water. The fresh, floral fragrance filled the room, and Penelo could have wept with gratitude.

"Arms over your head," he instructed, grabbing the hem of her nightgown.

"I'm perfectly capable of undressing myself, thank you," she replied.

"I thought we had an agreement," he said testily. "I did as you asked – I drew you a bath. Now, do you wish to avail yourself of it, or do you wish to go back to bed?"

"Honestly, Balthier." She gripped her nightgown and drew it tightly over her knees. "I can bathe myself!"

"Not in your condition, you won't." He tugged the fabric from her fingers. He glanced at her face, and his irritation faded as he noticed the blush that had risen high on her cheeks. "Darling girl, in case it has escaped your notice, we have not one, but _two_ children. I assure you, I've seen everything you've got, so there's no need to be shy. And, as I might remind you, you are hardly in any condition to indulge in any…strenuous activites."

In the face of such logic, she could hardly argue. She gave up the fight for her nightgown graciously, and he drew it carefully over her head. He didn't so much as glance at her body, which simultaneously relieved and concerned her. Surely, he was curious – or did he choose not to out of respect for her modesty?

In any case, he gathered her carefully in his arms and set her gently in the tub. The warm water cascaded around her, soothing her aching muscles, and the sweet scent of roses enveloped her. She could feel the aches in her body practically melting away. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the rim of the tub, feeling more at peace than she had in months.

The water rose steadily, until all at once she was buoyant, wincing as the muscles of her stomach clenched and protested the sudden exercise. She reached out to grasp the rim of the tub to steady herself so that she wouldn't have to use her aching muscles for stabilization.

"What's wrong?"

"The water's gotten too high," she said helplessly. "It hurts a bit, that's all. I'm still sore. I can manage." She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the pain.

"No, you can't." His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt and he quickly flung it aside. "Damn it all, I _knew_ this was a bad idea." He yanked his boots from his feet, tugged off his pants, and climbed into the tub with her. His arms lifted her against him as he sunk down in the water behind her, trapping her legs between his, holding her securely against him.

"Better?" His voice was a low murmur at her ear.

"Much," she squeaked as his arms encompassed her.

"I hope this is worth it," he muttered. "I loathe the thought of smelling like a bloody garden for the rest of the day."

She stifled a giggle at the thought. It wouldn't do to antagonize him, especially when he'd gone to such trouble to see that she had her bath. And it was _such _a nice bath, too. After such an agonizingly long labor, and the virtually sleepless days and nights that had followed, these precious few moments of peace and quiet and relaxation were just short of heaven.

"Why did it take you so long to get here?" The question popped out before she could stop it, and she bit her lip, wishing she could take back the words. Though she had wondered, she was terrified of the answer.

"I was hunting the Grave Lord in Golmore Jungle," he said. "I was, perhaps, a little careless. I did take it down, but I was wounded in doing so. Fran found me; she and her sisters took me to Dalmasca to recover. I was unconscious for two weeks; that is why I did not receive your letter."

"Unconcious? For _two weeks_?" She twisted as much as her sore muscles would allow. "What sort of injury keeps a grown man unconscious for two weeks?"

Wordlessly, he took her hand and pressed it to his midsection, drawing her fingers gently along the raised scar tissue. Eyes wide with shock and horror, she felt the scar from his right hip all the way up to the middle of his chest. The width of it told her it had been deep and the way he flinched when she probed a bit too hard suggested it wasn't yet fully healed.

"You were wounded this badly, and…and you still came?"

He cradled her hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "You sent for me, and so I came. As I ever will, if you call for me."

"I wasn't sure you would. For a while…well, for a while, I was certain you wouldn't," she said.

"Why was that?"

"Because we parted so badly. Because…because I made a great mess of things. Because I didn't trust you." She shrugged self-conciously. "If I had been you, I probably wouldn't have bothered with me. Too much trouble, I guess."

He chuckled. "You are, at that. Well, you _are_," he said, when she fixed him with an icy glare. "But, as you'll notice, I came just the same."

"Why, then, if I'm so much trouble," she asked, a bit petulantly.

"Haven't you been listening? I _love_ you, you complete nitwit." He wrapped his arms around her, relishing the softness of her skin under his hands. "And I rather think a bit of trouble ought to keep things interesting."

"But why _me_?" She shook her head. "I mean…I'm nobody. And it's been _years _between us."

"Ah, darling, I don't think there's a man in all of Ivalice who could resist you, if you set your sights on him. You had me years ago; it just took me a while to…come to terms with it, if you will. And when I did, I'd lost you." He reached for a pitcher at the side of the tub and filled it with warm water. "Close your eyes," he warned, as he slowly tipped the pitcher over her head, soaking her hair. He poured some fruity-scented concoction into his palm, working it into a foamy lather as he spread it through her hair.

"I'm not a child," she protested, "I can wash my own hair." But his fingers were gently massaging her scalp, and it felt so _nice. _

"Humor me," he insisted, gathering up her sodden hair and piling it atop her head to better coat it with the shampoo. "I suppose I found it more difficult than most to admit I'd been bested, and by a fledgling girl, no less. All I can say in my defense is that I'd not been taught to love. How to fight, how to steal, how to guard myself against unwise emotions, yes, but love? It was always a weakness, suffered by fools and children. And all I knew of family was my own – and a poorer excuse for that you'll never meet. With the exception of Mariette, we were none of us close or loving. Any emotion was crushed out of us, ridiculed or punished."

Penelo swiped a hand across her eyes, brushing away an errant patch of filmy bubbles that had slipped over her forehead. "You must've had a terrible childhood," she said.

He shrugged. "It was all I knew," he said simply. "It's a miracle that Mariette made it out more or less unscathed. But we all have our scars, Penelo. I've just worn mine a bit more proudly than most. I took what I knew and I became what I had to in order to survive. It is difficult to unlearn the lessons one has been taught from the cradle."

"Your father," she said. "He must've been very difficult."

"I suppose he knew no better than we. He tried to make each of his sons into his image…and he succeeded with all but me. I was always the black sheep, the scapegrace. He could not break me down into becoming what he wanted me to be. And yet, even after I made my escape, I became more like him than he knew."

"And your mother?"

"Absent." He said it in a neutral tone. "Always absent. She did her duty in providing my father his heirs, but she had no interest in children, could not be bothered with us until we were old enough to start bettering our family's interests. I saw her so rarely, I didn't even know what she looked like until I was eight, and they shipped me off to school. From then on, they visited me and my brothers once a year to see our progress, but always she was a stranger. She had a way of looking through you instead of at you, as if she were gauging your value. I suspect she always found me wanting."

"That's tragic." Her heart ached for the little boy he had once been, denied the love and affection of his parents, unaware that such a bond should even have existed at all. "My childhood was so different…my family was not nobility, of course, and sometimes we went wanting, and our apartment was so small. The four of us, crammed in to two rooms, Mama, Papa, Matieu, and me, but…but there was always so much love there. Even when Vaan and Reks came to live with us, it was like a tangible thing. Mama and Papa, they were happy to have them stay, even though it crowded our home even more. When they died, I had never felt more alone. I thought I would die from the grief."

Balthier, who had so recently suffered through his first experience with grief when he had thought Penelo was forever lost to him, felt he in some way understood. "When my mother died, and the school master informed me, I felt as though we might've been discussing the weather. I had no attachment to her whatsoever. I wonder how I might've been different, had they been any sort of parents at all." He tipped her head back, rinsing her hair of the soap, then set to work massaging conditioner through it.

"That feels _so _nice," Penelo murmured. She had to force herself not to melt beneath his gentle ministrations. "But your parents…that's so _sad_." Her shoulders rose and fell with her deep sigh . "I was so lucky; my family was so close and happy…I want to give Ellie and Matieu the same happiness I had as a child. They'll never want for love and affection."

He took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't know what a happy childhood is supposed to be like, Penelo," he said, his tone disheartened. "I never had one, and I wouldn't know the first thing about raising my own children. I could so easily fall back into the same behaviors I learned from my own parents. I've never been so terrified in all my life. I haven't the slightest idea how to be a father."

"Don't be ridiculous." Her gentle rebuke shattered the feeling of unease and fear that had crept up on him. "Don't you love Ellie? And Matieu?"

"Yes, I…yes." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Of course I do." He let out a long breath. "I never thought about the possibility of children, I never imagined I would have them…much less that I would actually care for them. It just…in all honesty, it never occurred to me that children were anything other than creatures to be borne, given into the care of nannies or nursemaids, and then shunted off to school. But when Ellie…she just…she simply threw her arms around me, called me stupid, and said _of course I must love her_, because _I was her papa_…and I _did_. I _did _love her." His voice grew hoarse, choked with emotion. "She _made_ me love her. I didn't want to. I had no interest in children, no use for them, no desire for the messes they make or the time and attention they require. But she made it impossible for me _not_ to love her."

Penelo could not repress a smile; he had the almost perplexed sound of a man who'd been brought to his knees by the most unlikely of foes – and perhaps he had in a sense, since, to a man like Balthier, a family would have been the most fearsome and loathed of all enemies.

"I wish I had been there," he said almost wistfully. "When she was born, as she grew. I've missed so much of her life already." He hesitated, for here was the crux of his dilemma – he had no desire to repeat those same mistakes with his son. He would never get back those missing precious moments of Ellie's early years, but perhaps he could still take part in his son's formative years, still be a part of Ellie's life…a part of Penelo's life.

"I wish you had been there, too," Penelo sighed as he rinsed her hair. "She was…well, a little monster most of the time," she laughed. "But she was wonderful. And she looked just like you. Whenever she was angry, I could see you in her face. She really _does _have your eyes. And your attitude."

His lips quirked in a wry smile. He finished rinsing her hair, setting to work on massaging the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders, which coaxed a low moan from her throat as her head dropped back onto his shoulder. "You'll have the devil of a time with her when she's a bit older, I'm afraid. She is so very like me, and I was not very…obedient at that age."

"I can't imagine you ever were," she giggled, then sighed as he worked a particularly difficult knotted muscle loose. "That feels _wonderful_. And what do you mean, _I'll _have the devil of a time with her? Exactly what do _you_ plan to be doing?"

He stilled. "Penelo…what are you saying?"

She turned to look at him. "What do you mean, what am I…" she stopped, suddenly silenced by the look in his eyes. He looked so hesitant, so unsure, so totally not the Balthier she had once known. Her heart leapt in her chest as she finally realized…he had believed she would tell him to leave. All this time, he had been waiting on her to command him to go.

All at once, she understood how completely he had changed, for she had never seen him appear so vulnerable before. Probably he didn't even realize how much of his inner torment she could read in his eyes. Her heart squeezed in her chest and she blinked back the tears that sprung, unbidden, to her eyes.

"Balthier," she said, laying her hand over his, where it still rested, motionless, on her shoulder. "Please stay."

"For how long?" The question was imbued with a wealth of hesitance and hope.

"For as long as you like." She gave him a tremulous smile. "I'd be amenable to forever."

His arms closed around her, gently, carefully, as if she were something fragile and precious and he was afraid of being too rough with her. His lips touched the back of her neck, whispering over her skin, touching anywhere he could reach. A fine tremor shook him, as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he shuddered with relief.

"Darling girl," he breathed in her ear. "It would be my pleasure."


	29. Epilogue

Balthier smiled, swirling the dregs of the wine in his glass as he surveyed the empty living room. Penelo had vacated the seat beside him only a few moments earlier to get Matieu ready for bed. He would join her in a few moments, but first…he had a bit of business to take care of.

"Nice try," he said to the empty room. "But I taught you that vanish spell, if you'll remember."

There was a faint shimmery glow of light as the magic faded, revealing his annoyed, sixteen-year-old daughter. A flush of irritation lit her cheeks as she crossed her arms petulantly.

"Ah, Dad."

"Ah, Ellie," he countered. "What are you about, sneaking out of the house at this time of night?"

She scuffed the toe of her shoe on the carpeted floor, her blonde hair falling into her face as she looked at the ground. "There's this boy, Alec…he asked me to go to a concert with him."

"And what did your mother say?"

Ellie averted her eyes. "She said no. She always says no!" Her lips pursed into a frown. "She thinks I'm too young to date, but I'm not a little girl anymore! I _really _like him, Dad."

Balthier sighed. "What _am _I going to do with you?" He motioned her over to sit on the sofa across from him. "You can't just sneak out of the house and do whatever you please, darling."

"But you and Mom did all _sorts _of things at my age that you won't let me do!" she replied. "You and Mom helped Queen Ashe get her kingdom back. And _I _can't even go out on a date. Like that's more dangerous than what _you _did!"

"Ellie," he said patiently. "You know your mother and I only want the best for you. You have something your mom didn't have at your age – a mother and father to look after you. And you'll soon be old enough to do whatever you please. But while you are young, we expect you to follow our rules. _Not _because we want to make you miserable, but because we want to keep you safe."

She let out a long sigh. "I _know_," she said. "But you _have_ to let me grow up sometime, Daddy."

She was already so grown up that it made his chest hurt just looking at her sometimes. So grown up, and she looked so much like Penelo – with a little of him thrown in there, in those bright green eyes, so intense.

He stood and held out his arms, and just like she always had when she was a child, she rushed into them.

He kissed her forehead. "You're grounded for two weeks," he told her.

"Ah, Dad…"

"Starting _after_ you get back from your date. And I expect you to bring this boy – Alec – here, so your mother and I can meet him."

She hugged him tighter. "You are the absolute _best _dad in the whole world!"

"_And _you'll be back no later than two o'clock." He would know if she were even a minute late; he'd be waiting right there for her to return.

"Deal!" she said happily. Then her face fell. "What about Mom?"

"Let me handle your mother. You get going, before I'm tempted to change my mind." And he was, oh, how he was. She was growing up far too fast, his little girl. Just like Penelo, he wanted to hold tight to the child she'd been.

With a quick kiss on his cheek, she was flying out the door, an irrepressible smile on her face.

Penelo poked her head into the room. "Just how, exactly, were you planning to _handle _me?"

He gave her a lopsided grin, and swept her into his arms, enjoying her brief squeal of surprise as he carried her across the room and fell onto the sofa, Penelo still cradled in his arms. "Like that," he said.

She slid her fingers into his hair, resting her head on his chest.

"You know, you can't give in _every _time," she said patiently.

"And you can't _refuse_ every time," he countered. "She's growing up, darling. And she's right – at some point, we'll have to let her. She's at a difficult age; she's no longer a child, but she's not yet an adult. We have to give her some freedom to find her own path. And it's better for all of us if we permit her to see her young man – _with _our permission – than for her to sneak around and do it behind our backs."

She sighed. "I worry," she said. "What if he's not good to her?"

"She's a smart girl. She knows how to handle herself. And, more importantly, she knows how to defend herself. Besides, I'm fairly certain I know who the boy is, and his parents are good people. I don't think we have much to be concerned about on that score."

"I _still _worry," she said.

"That's only natural. I'm worried, too." He held her close, linking their fingers, absently rubbing his over her ring – the ring he'd placed onto her finger several years before. They'd married soon after she'd asked him to stay with her, and Balthier had been a mess of nerves, absolutely convinced, until he'd slipped that ring onto her finger and officially bound them together, that she'd reconsider. Even in all the years that had followed, he sometimes still found himself amazed that she hadn't.

She touched her nose to his. "Want to wait up with me? I don't think I can go to sleep until she gets home safe."

"I'd like nothing better. I'll make us some coffee."

"I'll make the coffee; you go say good night to Matieu first. He's waiting on you," she said. She cast him a suspicious look. "She's still grounded, right?"

He grinned. "She's still grounded. I don't let her get away with _everything_."

"No; just enough to make you the best dad in the whole world," she teased gently.

He drew her up off the sofa and into his arms. "Are you still glad you asked me to stay?"

She rocked up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. "More than you'll ever know."


End file.
